


An Alternative Universe

by notjustmom



Series: Alternatively... [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Abbey Grange, Black Peter, Charles Augustus Milverton - Freeform, Gen, M/M, Season 3 fix-it, The Dancing Men, The Empty House, The Gloria Scott, The Golden Pince-Nez, The Missing Three-Quarter, The Norwood Builder, The Priory School, The Second Stain, The Six Napoleons, The Solitary Cyclist, The Three Students, Triggers, mentions of torture/sexual assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-04-17 08:30:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 125
Words: 54,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4659759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One take on how Season Three could have gone without the character of Mary Morstan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Just a magic trick..."  
John understood, of course he did. Sherlock never wasted words the way normal people seemed to. He understood words had power, never liked repeating himself, hated to have to push rewind because they hadn't bothered to pay attention.

So, he knew one day, his friend would be back. He visited the black stone after work most days, telling him about his ridiculous patients, all the skinned knees, coughs and that one woman whose hiccups wouldn't go away. How Mrs. Hudson missed him, and still swiped the skull once a week. 

"Do this for me..."  
Of course he would, he got on with it, missing the mad, arrogant arse, but, he did it, keeping the secret, knowing he would find a way home.

It was a Tuesday. A wet spring evening, a carton of take away, a beer and a classic Dr. Who episode. A bang on the door downstairs, rattle of the doorknob, and a whimper loud enough to make it up the stairs told him his friend had returned. He put the beer down, breathed in deeply, not sure what he would find at his/their door.

His hand trembled slightly, he stood up and limped tightly to the door to the flat, grimacing as his leg tingled and twitched. The door was banged on again, less urgently this time. Perhaps Sherlock believed he had left? Suddenly his tedious day fell away, and he all but tumbled down the stairs to get to his friend.

Slowly, he opened the door. A lump of tattered clothing collapsed against his shins. "John?" he whispered.  
"Sherlock."  
"I wasn't sure, not really, had hoped you'd understand, but..."

He stopped speaking, grunting harshly as his blogger gently gathered him into his arms, and carried him almost reverently up to their flat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I do understand why they had Mycroft help take care of Sherlock at the beginning of The Empty Hearse. In this verse, however, Sherlock gets out of the mess on his own and returns home to where he hopes to find John.

John carefully held Sherlock as they traveled up the seventeen stairs to 221B, cataloguing the trauma he could already sense in his friend's shivering body. At least a few cracked ribs, broken fingers, some cuts and gashes already starting to scar badly traversed the skin that he could see. The rest even he could deduce simply from Sherlock's body language.

"We need to get you a bath, eh, Sherlock?" John spoke quietly in order not to spook his friend. "I'm going to help get you undressed, nod if you can hear me." There was an almost imperceptible nod from the pile of clothes. "I'm not leaving you alone. Do you understand?" Another nod, accompanied by a slight sigh, the only signs he had been heard.

John removed the hood from his friend's head, and tried not to react. The raven curls had been decimated, shorn and bleached white, they had not seen shampoo in months. He told himself that the hair will grow back, it will take time, but it will grow again. After they had moved to the bathroom, he gently unwrapped the grey(possibly green at one time?) hoodie from Sherlock's slight torso, hoping not to bump anything too roughly.

"I'm going to sit you on the toilet seat, ok? I'm going to run the water and help you undress, tell me if anything hurts too much, alright? The detective bent his head in acquiescence. John sat him carefully on the seat, and turned the water on. He turned back to his friend, and realized he would have to cut the rest of his clothes from his body, the remaining shreds appeared to be glued onto him. "Oh, Sherlock," sighed his flatmate.

John finally got as much of the old clothing off Sherlock as he could. He sat him back onto the seat and got undressed himself. "I'm going to sit in the tub with you, Sherlock, so you don't drown." At this, his friend seemed to be smiling at a private joke. "That would be ironic, wouldn't it?" He tried to laugh, but it came out as a groan. "John, don't make me laugh, please, I've forgotten how."

John somehow managed to get both of them settled into the warmish water, enclosing his friend in his arms, and tried to stop himself from sobbing, "Welcome home, you arse. I've missed you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

He had hoped that John had understood. Maybe not the how or the why entirely, but surely, John knew deep down that he had faked his death and would return if possible. After that last glimpse of John standing at that black grave marker, he wasn't sure he would ever see his blogger again. He knew he may not even see London again, but if he were lucky, just maybe...

Lucky, he supposed to himself as he banged against the door at Baker Street."Well, I'm not dead entirely, just mostly dead. Please, John, just answer the door. I lost my keys in Germany, my mind in Bulgaria, and my virginity in a warehouse, somewhere in Greece, I think. Just be home, John, please." He was about to give up, when he heard the stumble of feet almost falling down the stairs....sixteen. seventeen....the door was wrenched open.

"John?"  
"Sherlock."  
"I wasn't sure, not really, had hoped you'd understand, but..."

He briefly looked up from under the hood that covered the hair he couldn't stand to touch. He saw a glimpse of the man who had killed for him, saved him, and put up with him for so long, and realized he had always understood. His blogger bent down, somehow collected what was left of him, and carried him back up those seventeen stairs and back home, finally. Home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock POV continued

John was stronger than he thought. He didn't stumble or struggle as they made it up the stairs, a slight bounce now and then made him cringe as he felt himself start to crash; it had taken everything he had left just to carry himself to Baker Street. The adrenaline that had pushed him this far was rapidly fading.

"We need to get you a bath, eh, Sherlock?" He heard John whisper. He thought he nodded when John said a bit louder: "I'm going to help get you undressed, nod if you can hear me. I'm not leaving you alone. Do you understand?" Definitely, he had nodded and tried to speak that time.

When they were finally back inside the flat, John took the hood off. Ugh. He's seen the hair, it was the hardest part of the disguise for him, cutting off his curls after bleaching them. No, the hardest part was watching himself in the mirror as his hair fell away. Curl after curl, it was like Samson losing his powers, but he had done it to himself. He felt John struggle to not react at all. He wanted to tell him, it will grow back, but he wasn't sure it would.

"I'm going to sit you on the toilet seat, ok? I'm going to run the water and help you undress, tell me if anything hurts too much, alright?" Oh god, no, he's going to see. What does it matter, he can already tell. He will know everything. There goes the hoodie, I hope he burns it, ugghhhhh, everything is just in pieces now. How can he do this for me? When was the last time I had a bath? Bubbles...he just put those bubbles in...

"Oh, Sherlock." He knows he can't pull the clothing off, ah well in for a penny in for a pound, the scissors take most of the rags away that remain. "I'm going to sit in the tub with you, Sherlock, so you don't drown." Yes, that would be funny..."That would be ironic, wouldn't it?" He tried to laugh, but it came out as a groan. "John, don't make me laugh, please, I've forgotten how."

Saying that little hurt way too much. John slid in to the tub behind me, his body the only reason I didn't go under the water, it would be so easy just to stay submerged, not fight to stay afloat, but my flatmate says, "Welcome home, you arse. I've missed you." It's enough to stay here, just to know John had missed me, the fondness in his voice nearly undoes me.


	5. Chapter 5

John carefully washed away the months of grime and greyness that coated Sherlock's skin, trying to look at his wounds objectively, as a doctor, not a friend. Each time his friend flinched away from his touch, or whimpered as he brushed against a recent injury, he wanted to find those responsible and make them regret the day they were born.

"John," Sherlock whispered,"you don't have to.....unnnngh...do this for me."

"I want to, you giant idiot, you are my friend and I want to help you heal. Please let me?"

He felt the detective measurably relax, then draw in a pained breath as John tried to cleanse a fresh injury. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, I need to remove the dirt." and the...glass? Oh, god, why didn't he take me with him? He felt ridges of scarred skin that hadn't been treated properly, or at all, permanent reminders that would never heal completely.

He wanted to know, and yet, a part of him was afraid to ask, knowing that the questions he wanted answers to served no purpose, he wanted to somehow take the pain and the memory away. It was selfish to want to share in the two years his friend had been away. Maybe the war with Moriarty had started as a game between two brilliant minds, but now one was dead, the other seemed to be more than halfway there.

"Sherlock, you can't go to sleep in here..."  
"John???"  
"Yes, Sherlock, I'm here, you are home. You are safe."  
"Thank you, John, I'm sorry."  
"What for?"  
"For leaving that way, it was inexcusable. I hope some day you will forgive me?"  
"There is nothing to forgive, my friend. I understand. I knew. I always knew you'd be back."


	6. Chapter 6

"Sherlock, you can't go to sleep in here..."  
"John???"  
"Yes, Sherlock, I'm here, you are home. You are safe."  
"Thank you, John, I'm sorry."  
"What for?"  
"For leaving that way, it was inexcusable. I hope some day you will forgive me?"  
"There is nothing to forgive, my friend. I understand. I knew. I always knew you'd be back."

To Sherlock, the bath felt as if it took forever. It took ages for his flatmate to remove the months of living rough, some time in captivity, some weeks hiding in places he couldn't even describe now, if forced to. John wanted answers, it was his right to ask, but he wasn't asking. As John carefully lifted him out of the tub, and dried him off, he whispered:

"I know you want to know what..."  
"No, not really, unless you want to tell me?"  
"Not yet? Maybe someday, I'll be ready."  
"It's up to you, I'm willing to listen."  
"Thank you..."

John gently wrapped him in the blue robe, the robe that was on the hook on the back of his bedroom door, just waiting for him to come home.

"I need to treat the fresh injuries. Please, sit on the bed? We can begin that way?"

Sherlock was so tired, he simply nodded and limped to the bed, melting down into his sheets; the ridiculously high thread count was worth the exorbitant price tag, as always. John stood in front of him, lifting his chin gently in order to examine the cut to his left cheekbone.

"This may sting a bit, I am sorry."

He smirked, immediately regretting doing so, "do your worst, John."


	7. Author's note

My intention with writing this piece is to 'correct' Season 3. I did love what they did with Season 3, they gave us what we expected, I believe; but I felt they went a bit off the edge of camp/crack. 

I intend to mash our BBC boys with the ACD canon, following Sherlock's return in the Empty House. I believe that if Doyle had written his actual return to England, battered as I have him here, he would have returned to his doctor, not to Mycroft to heal for some time before facing Moran.

The first book I ever bought for myself when I was 11, was a copy of the Illustrated Strand stories, beginning with A Scandal in Bohemia. I did not read A Study in Scarlet until after I saw the first season of the BBC Sherlock show. I grew up watching Jeremy Brett, and accidentally bumped into Benedict Cumberbatch's Sherlock in 2010. You might say I was a bit smitten from "How fresh?" I love how Martin Freeman's John is not just a sidekick/bumbling comic relief but as strong as Sherlock is, just in different ways.They balance each other out, one rarely outshines the other too often. So, my idea is that of course, John knew that Sherlock had faked his death, and knew from the very beginning. He simply went on as he knew his flatmate would have expected him to.

I have decided to keep them as flatmates and friends without benefits as I feel Doyle intended. I am currently working on pieces where they are anything but platonic. One is a shared Omegaverse with Akifall, the other a purely cracky Molstrade/Johnlock.

My hope is to write at least a small chapter every day until the hiatus ends in the UK. I am in the States, but will celebrate with those of you across the pond by ending this story. Or continuing if the spirit moves me.

regards,  
notjustmom  
(Kate)


	8. Chapter 8

The first night home, Sherlock slept like the metaphorical dead. John sat in the chair next to the bed in case he was needed. It reminded him a bit of the night Irene Adler drugged Sherlock in order to retrieve her phone. That time felt so far away now and yet it seemed like a few days ago. 

John jolted awake when the mid afternoon light pierced his eyelids. He had to remind himself where he was and what had happened over the last twelve hours. He looked at the bed to see his friend curled in a ball, still sound asleep. John stood and stretched to undo the kinks that had stiffened his bad shoulder, and went to make a pot of tea for two for the first time in two years.

When he returned carrying a tray of tea and Mrs. Hudson's famous scones, Sherlock had managed to pull himself upright, so he was leaning against the headboard.

"John?" He whispered.  
"Yes, Sherlock. Are you ready for some tea? It isn't too hot, if you want to try it."  
"Thank you, John. You have no idea how grateful I am to find you still here. I can't imagine what the last years have been like for you." His voice drifted off as he sipped his first real cup of tea in two years.


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock couldn't recall the last time he had allowed himself to relax enough to fully fall asleep. For the last two years, he was always on guard, catching moments of rest here and there. But that first night home, once John had treated his injuries, he took off the robe, collapsed into his sheets and slept a dreamless sleep.

When he awoke to the scent of morning tea, he panicked momentarily, he could not remember where he was. Then he put his face into his pillow. It was home, a bit musty, but he was home in his bed. He heard John puttering away in the kitchen and tried to get up, but his transport was unwilling. He wanted to show his friend that he was 'fine' but John would see through him. He always could.

"John?" He whispered as his flatmate returned carrying a tray.  
"Yes, Sherlock. Are you ready for some tea? It isn't too hot, if you want to try it."  
"Thank you, John. You have no idea how grateful I am to find you still here. I can't imagine what the last years have been like for you." His voice drifted off as he sipped his first real cup of tea in two years.

"Where else could I possibly be, Sherlock?"  
"What do you mean, John?"  
"I mean, my life began when we met, you saved me the moment you looked into my eyes and you knew everything. No one had ever looked at me in that way, it was as if you were inside my head for a brief moment, tidied things a bit, then removed yourself, leaving behind a better version."  
"When I knew you were coming back, I was prepared to wait as long as necessary for you to return. I knew you would, so here I am."

John took the cup back from me as he noticed my hands start to tremble. No one had ever believed in me in this way, not my family, not even Mum. John simply decided I would return, and here I am...

"Rest," he said. "You need time to heal, then we can go on, yes?"  
"Yes, John." The pillows called me back into that almost death of slumber without dreams, as John sat back in his chair, tapping slowly on his laptop.


	10. Chapter 10

The next day, after helping Sherlock take a shower and replacing bandages, "I can do it myself, John, I'm not an invalid..." which was shot down with a single look, John settled his flatmate down on the couch, propped up by pillows with a warm cup of tea and John's newish laptop.

"We should tell Mrs. Hudson you're back, Sherlock, so she doesn't have a heart attack when she pops up here, as she does."

"You didn't tell her...?"  
"No, everyone thinks I believe that you are dead, it wouldn't have worked otherwise, would it?"  
"Lestrade..."  
"He's going to want to punch us both, but he will get over it."  
Sherlock started to laugh until his ribs reminded him what a terrible idea it was, "Ugh, why do cracked ribs have to hurt so damn much?"  
"Just breathe, Sherlock, they will heal, you just need to give them time."

They sat together, John worked the crossword, Sherlock read the news online, when he stopped suddenly. "Damn. Well, I knew I'd have to deal with him eventually."

John looked up, "deal with whom, exactly?"  
Sherlock pointed to an article regarding the recent mysterious death of Ronald Adair. "I know who did this, John. He is the last of Moriarty's Inner Circle. Colonel Moran was a soldier who rose through the ranks quickly until he disappeared during Afghanistan. He started working for Moriarty as an assassin, as he paid better wages. He was his 'Second-In-Command', and he was the only one I couldn't take care of while I was away. He's in London, and I need your help to trap him."


	11. Chapter 11

"...Colonel Moran was a soldier who rose through the ranks quickly until he disappeared during Afghanistan. He started working for Moriarty as an assassin, as he paid better wages. He was his 'Second-In-Command', and he was the only one I couldn't take care of while I was away. He's in London, and I need your help to trap him."

"What??! Are you out of your mind? You can't even walk, let alone face Moran!" John lost his temper for the first time since Sherlock returned. "Absolutely not!"  
"John, I need to do thi--"  
"NO! We get Lestrade here and you explain it to him, and we---"  
"He's too dangerous, John, I don't want to risk Lestrade again..."

John finally took a deep breath and relaxed. "What if I invite him over, you explain everything and we come up with a plan, the three of us?"

Sherlock shrugged, too tired to fight anymore and was about to say so when Mrs. Hudson banged on the door, obviously back from her sister's and had heard John yelling. "Damn! Well, we might as well get it over with." 

"John! What are you? Oh my..." Mrs. Hudson opened the door to the flat and put her hand to her mouth.  
"Sherlock???! But, you are, were..."  
"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I..."  
"I don't care, I don't want to know, you probably won't tell me anyway, I am just so glad to see you...what happened to your beautiful hair??"  
"It's a long story, Mrs. H."  
"John?! No. No. I don't want to know, truly. You just get him better, and if he ends up dead again, there will be hell to pay. I'll bring some scones up, but just this once...I'm not.."  
"...your housekeeper." Sherlock and John finished together, almost laughing except it still hurt too much for either of them.


	12. Chapter 12

"Greg?"  
"John, how are ya, mate, it's been a while! wanna meet up for a pint or-"  
"Actually, something has come up and I need your help if you could stop by Baker Street?"  
"Now?"  
"It's regarding the Ronald Adair case..."  
"I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Are you ready, Sherlock? Lestrade may not take your return from the dead as well as Mrs. H did."  
"I know..."

Ten minutes later, Lestrade bounded up the stairs, and banged on the door, "John?"  
John opened the door, blocking the DI's view of his flatmate momentarily. "Uhm, I need to tell you something without giving you a heart attack, so just listen to me a minute, ok?"  
"John...." Lestrade got that pinched look he used to get when he had to deal with Sherlock on a crime scene.  
"Two days ago, Sherlock came home..."  
"...Sherlock 'came home?' Came home from where, exactly?"  
"He was dismantling Moriarty's network, and it took two years...."  
"Where is he, John?" Lestrade was using his quiet 'about to lose it' voice.  
"I'm right here, Lestrade," sighed Sherlock, from his cocoon on the couch.  
"Oh god, it is you!" Lestrade pushed through John and saw a much thinner, exhausted, white haired version of the most brilliant man he had ever known and believed he would never see again.  
"Sherlock, I don't know whether I want to punch you or hug you..."  
"I'd prefer you did neither, as both would hurt and would be equally embarrassing to us both. John asked you here because I know who murdered Ronald Adair, and we would like to help you capture him. Shall we begin?"


	13. Chapter 13

"Shall we begin?"

Lestrade had aged since I had gone. Yes, it had been two years, but looking at him, I could have sworn it had been ten. His silver hair was almost white, the circles under his eyes had deepened and darkened with worry and was it grief(?) He had started smoking again and his fingers twitched in search of something to hold onto.

"Lestrade...I am sorr-"  
"No, damnit, save it, right? Later, 'kay? Just gimme what you know about the Adair case, yeah? We can talk about me punching both of you later."  
"Go ahead and smoke if you want, Greg..."  
"Yeah, now you get my name right."  
"I see that Adair was shot through the head with what appears to be a high-powered rifle shot, in a locked room, correct?"  
Lestrade, nods while he lights a cigarette and takes a deep breath before blowing it out slowly. "Yeah. He was at his computer doing some calculations on a spread sheet, bullet right between the eyes, almost impossible angle to commit suicide, and no sign of a gun anyway. Third floor room, no sign of forced entry, window had been opened halfway, but there was no way for anyone to get in through the window unless they were effing Spiderman. Furthermore, Adair had been well-liked, and there were no financial difficulties or romantic entanglements at the time of his death--"  
"It was an air rifle. I'm sure you will discover there is a building opposite from the Adair residence that has a window which corresponds perfectly with the room in which the body was discovered."  
"How do you know that?"  
"I've been tracking a Colonel Sebastian Moran, or to be more exact, we have been tracking each other for the last month. I have been following him as he has left similar deaths in his travels back home to settle a debt with me for killing Moriarty. He knows where I am and until we catch him you and John and Mrs. Hudson are in danger."

Lestrade almost chokes on his cigarette.


	14. Chapter 14

"The reason I 'died' was to guarantee that Moriarty's assassins did not kill you, Mrs. Hudson or John. I did not kill him on the roof, but Moran would rather believe I did than have to accept that his boss had a death wish, his end game was always to end both of us."

Lestrade puts his cigarette out on the plate John has put in front of him. He rubs his face, trying to rearrange everything that he knows or thinks he knew. He is not a moron, though I always implied that. He is the best of Scotland Yard by a mile, and he saved my arse too many times for me to let him struggle now.

"You did everything you could. He made it impossible for you to do anything but what you did at the end. It is not your fault, Greg."

"John, you knew?"  
"I'm sorry, Greg, I had to act like I truly believed he was dead, otherwise, it would have been for nothing. I guessed from the words he said to me from the roof. I just knew he would be back eventually if it were possible for him to return, and two days ago, he showed up here, worse than he is now."

I watch as Lestrade makes his decision. The wheels are cranking, gears sliding across each other. "Yeah, alright. But, when this is over..."

I do the only thing I can do, which is offer my hand to him. This shocks the DI, as in all of our years of working together, I never touched him, let alone shook his hand. I watch him pull himself together and take my hand, which I note to my disgust is shaking from too little rest, too little food over the last two years.

"I will tell you everything you want to know, once Moran is arrested."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favourite scenes in His Last Vow is when after Sherlock leaves the hospital to confront Mary, John, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson are in Baker Street, asking themselves who Sherlock could possibly want to protect. It always bugged me that at least in the script, it is never shown that the three people Sherlock 'died for' ever know that. It appears that at some point he does tell Molly because he lets her know in The Empty Hearse that Moriarty messed up because he didn't understand that Molly was the only one who could have actually helped to save him.
> 
> So, this is my attempt to correct that a bit.
> 
> Also I'm siding with those who believe that Lestrade got Sherlock clean, and helped him stay that way, before John entered the picture, making a stronger case for why Sherlock would have 'died' for him.


	15. Chapter 15

"Any ideas? Or should I not ask?"  
Sherlock sighs, knowing his suggestion will be unwelcome.  
"I can lure him here by requesting a meeting. Don't. I know him. Intimately. We have watched each other over the last two years, I know his patterns, his tendencies..."  
John pinched his nose, "I don't like it..."  
"I won't actually meet him, he'll just think he is. We may also have to ask Mycroft for assistance..."  
John flared, "He bloody well better 'assist' us..."  
"John, to be fair, he lost contact with me before Serbia, it wasn't technically his fault."  
"Does he even know you are back?"  
"I assume so, perhaps for once he is waiting..."  
A knock at the door made John roll his eyes, "Seriously?"  
"Brother dear, you rang?"


	16. Chapter 16

"John, Detective Inspector, Brother dear. I'm assuming this assistance you require has to do with our 'friend' Colonel Moran's presence in London?"  
John looks likes he wants to have five minutes alone with my brother. I can feel his hand calm its slight twitchiness and the slight smile he has plastered on his face is usually a very bad sign.  
"John," I put my hand out in a feeble attempt to still his building rage. "Please, let's just get this over with."  
"How very wise, Sherlock. I'm assuming you have already gallantly suggested that you will draw Moran out? And you need to know his exact movements, yes?"  
I'm too tired to even sneer correctly at him, so I simply nod.  
"He is, at the moment playing, and naturally cheating, at cards, at one of his clubs. As I'm sure you gathered, Sherlock, Adair had discovered the cheating and was about to return his shared winnings, which ultimately resulted in his death?"  
I sigh and nod again, already weary of his presence, but needing to finish this. I allow him his moment of omniscience which he thrives on.  
"His whereabouts have been noted since his return, as have yours, Brother. May I say, I am quite pleased to see you in relatively one piece?"  
I remove my hand from John's wrist and allow myself a brief grin.  
In one remarkable move, before Lestrade can say a word, John launches himself at my brother taking him to the floor.  
"John," I mutter, "No blood on the carpet, you know how Mrs. Hudson disapproves."  
John dusts himself off but not before picking up Mycroft's umbrella, snapping it in two before dropping it on my brother's slightly shaken form.  
"Nice to see you too, Mycroft. This is what I need from you, then you will depart."


	17. Chapter 17

Mycroft recovered his mask of indifference with aplomb. "Whatever you require, Brother dear, all you need do is ask..."

Sherlock waved away his brother's words impatiently, "I need the buildings within sniper range of 221B cleared, and a handful of your most trusted placed in key positions as homeless, or people who can loiter near those buildings without drawing attention to themselves..."

"It will take time, Sherlock..."

"How many more victims do you want, Mycroft?"

"Anything else?"

"I want live CCTV video of Moran's movements, and I want you to stay out of it, he will be arrested, charged and convicted. NOT taken care of, do you understand me?"

"It will be done."

Mycroft picked up the remains of his umbrella and left without another word.

John looked over at his friend, who seemed to deflate with the departure of his brother. It seemed to have taken everything he had not to show Mycroft any weakness. 

"John?" he whispered.  
"Yeah, Sherlock, I'm here. Can I get you anything?"  
"Tea?" he managed a tiny smile.  
"Of course."

Lestrade watched John leave the room, and sighed, "What is your plan, Sherlock?"  
"I will put the word out through the Homeless Network that I want a meeting with Moran, and once Mycroft communicates that all is clear, and I have access to CCTV, I will sit and wait for him to come to me."  
"Sherlock..."  
"Greg, I need to finish this. My way. I need you to have enough of your own men mingling with Mycroft's so I may get through this in one piece, more or less? No more deaths at the hand of Moriarty, real or faked, yeah?"  
"John won't like it."  
"He will be here, you know what kind of shot he is."  
Lestrade snorted, "Yeah, I do kinda remember a certain cabbie..."  
"I knew you always knew, Graham."  
"Arse," Lestrade grinned in spite of the situation. "I'm not an id..."  
"No, I know you aren't; I've always respected you, I hope you know that."  
Lestrade looked down at his hands.  
"Thank you."  
"It was the least I could do."  
Lestrade rises and gives the detective his hand, "Let me know when you are ready, and you will have the best I have."  
"I know."  
They shook hands, and Lestrade departed. Sherlock thought he appeared to have regained a bit of bounce in his step that he hadn't had when he arrived. 

When John returned with tea and a dose of paracetamol, Sherlock had fallen asleep. He put the tray down, sat down on the couch near his friend's feet, and found some crap telly. They remained in that position for the rest of the afternoon, Sherlock's feet in John's lap, John's head bowed as in prayer as he slept.


	18. Chapter 18

Sometimes, even the British Government found its hands tied by red tape, in this case, the annual tube strike made it impossible to get the block around 221B cleared without undue suspicious activity. Sherlock grumbled, but remained determined to do things by the book in his dealings with Moran.

"Why can't you let Mycroft clean up this last bit of his mess, Sherlock?" John asked.

"No. I need to see his face when Lestrade arrests him. I want him to know l beat him. I want it done right. I don't trust Mycroft, and I want to make sure he is the last of it. I want it to be done, John."

John felt Sherlock's agitation building to near panic, so he let it go. "Is there anything I can do?"  
"Yes, get this note down to Speedy's, the girl at the counter will get it to one of my Homeless Network, it will start the proverbial ball rolling."

Sherlock wrote out a message that appeared to be more hieroglyphics than language, wrapped a 50 pound note inside it, and sent John downstairs. He leaned back on the pillows, closed his eyes and wished he could sleep without echoes of his time away. Scenes were mixed together, he was never sure exactly where his mind would go, but hoped he could just avoid recalling his unfortunate experience in Greece. If he could just block it out, it was as if it never happened.

John came back into the flat to hear his friend screaming. "No! No, please!!!"  
From experience, he knew he couldn't pull him back easily from where he was in the nightmare, so he cautiously moved to the couch and spoke quietly to his flatmate.  
"Sherlock, you are in London, you are home, on your couch, safe. No one can hurt you, I won't let anyone hurt you again."  
Sherlock stopped thrashing, and slowed his breathing, "John? Is it you?" He rasped harshly.  
"Yeah, I'm here, I'm going to touch your shoulder, ok?"  
Sherlock nodded, slowly opened his eyes. "John, it is you."  
"Yeah, I'm not going anywhere, right?"  
"Hungry?"  
"A bit, but could you just sit for a moment?"  
"Of course."


	19. Chapter 19

Finally, after three excruciating days, Mycroft had held up his end of the bargain. He had arranged to make it appear that an issue with the gas line was dangerous enough to clear Baker Street. 'Workers' dressed in neon vests, hard hats, jumpsuits and work boots were stationed unobtrusively around the neighborhood, knocking on doors to 'clear' the remaining residents, and as evening started to creep in, fewer and fewer men were visible.

"Well, at least Mycroft still knows how to do his job," scoffed Sherlock, who was feeling well enough to pace around the flat, though not quite as manically as before he had left.

"Slow down, yeah?" sighed John. "And for the hundredth time, stay away from the window, you idiot."

Sherlock sat, wincing a bit still, and watched the images his brother had supplied. "I'm sure Moran isn't fooled a bit, but he is still making his way here." He noted a figure making his way cautiously, yet relaxed, seemingly taking an innocent stroll as the street lamps began to turn on.

"Lestrade? Do you have him?" Sherlock questioned the DI.  
"Yeah, we are in position, just give us the signal, and we will take him."  
"Let him get to the second floor, and set up. I'll let you know...damn!" Sherlock groaned.  
"What is it, Sherlock?" John's trigger finger jumped on the Browning in his hand.  
"He's gone around the back way, no cameras..."  
"Alright...Lestrade, change of plans. He's coming here, I've got this."  
"John, just be careful."  
"Don't worry, seems Moran wants to meet Sherlock face to face as well. He has to go through me first."

At that moment, they heard the street door open quietly, and steps were heard, silent save for that one creaky board. Moran swore quietly under his breath, then continued up the stairs. Sherlock turned the laptop off, leaving the ghosts of the street lamps as the only source of light. He made his way to the window, letting Lestrade know he was still fine and to maintain radio silence.

John flattened himself against the wall, barely breathing, finger on the trigger.  
Moran turned the knob, and made his way into the flat.  
"Sherlock," he sneered. "so glad you made it home so I could finish the job Jim started."  
He made a move to the window only to feel the muzzle of John's Browning pressed against his skull.  
"Sherlock wants you alive to face a trial of your peers," growled John. "But, personally, I'd have no problem with acting as a judge and jury of one. Just move a muscle, please, Colonel Moran, give me an excuse."

Moran sighed, "Ah yes, Sherlock's live-in pet..."  
In one quick motion, John knocked him out cold with his weapon, took out the handcuffs Lestrade had given him in case the opportunity arose, and cuffed the last known associate of the late James Moriarty.


	20. Chapter 20

One month following the capture of Moran, life had slowly returned to what constituted 'normality' at 221B. Sherlock once again left parts in the fridge, hand delivered by Molly, as Sherlock was not ready to return to Bart's yet, and John didn't push. Sherlock slowly regained the weight he lost while away, but still found sleeping difficult at best. John continued his locum work, mostly to give his flatmate a sense of independence, and it allowed him to recover some part of real life after two years of feeling slightly out of joint.

The odd case found them through the blog, as once the press found out about Moran's arrest at 221B, the boys immediately became tabloid darlings once again. John began to monitor the comments in case there were any interesting cases that Sherlock could work on without leaving the flat. His hair was something of a sore point, the curls had started to grow back, but it remained white, leading Sherlock to complain bitterly:

"What is this, am I on an episode of Twin Peaks???"  
"You could dye it, maybe the colour will come back---"  
"John--"  
Sherlock's response was cut short as the door to 221B was wrenched open by a young man, obviously in need of their services:  
"I am about to be arrested for murder, please, please help me?!"  
"Interesting...John go lock the door...You have five minutes, try not to bore me."


	21. Chapter 21

"My name is John Hector McFarlane..."  
Sherlock shifted restlessly in his chair and sighed,"Yes? Am I presumed to know the name?"  
"I see that your partner has the Guardian open on his laptop, if he scrolls down, he would see that it is already assumed that I have been placed under arrest, by an Inspector Lestrade..."  
"Well," muttered my friend. "at least you aren't boring. You have approximately 4 minutes until Lestrade and his minions will be pounding up the stairs, so, please continue, just whom are you accused of murdering?"  
"An odd duck, goes by the name of Jonas Oldacre. I only met him yesterday, he had contacted me through my website and we arranged to meet to discuss some work I was to do for him."  
"What work is that exactly?" Sherlock asked. "From all appearances, you would seem to be someone who works indoors, mainly with computers, but your hands are callused and abused in a way that leads me to believe you use computers only to attract customers to your actual work, which is something to do with antique books."  
"How on earth?"  
"Nevermind, please continue your story, as I'm sorry to say, I hear Lestrade's crew tromping up even as we speak..."


	22. Chapter 22

The young man who banged into our flat was in his twenties, not well-off, but attempted to keep up appearances by keeping his once expensive shoes well-maintained, nails were neat, despite the evidence that they were used to much abuse, bandages indicated they undertook work that involved the sharp edges of paper...

"Please, Mr. Holmes!"  
"Mr. McFarlane, please sit, your pacing is giving me a headache, perhaps if you appear calm when Lestrade enters the room, we can convince him to allow you to tell your version of the events that have occurred over the last two days?"  
"Of course, you are quite correct, I apologize."

He sat, one knee bounced, unable to keep his nervousness under wraps. He jumped slightly as Lestrade banged on the door.  
"Sherlock, open the door, we know he's in there, we knew he would try to get to you before we could arrest him...Open the do-"  
I nodded to John to open the door before Lestrade had a stroke.

"Mr. McFarlane was about to tell us the story of what has befallen him over the last two days. I hope justice will not be perverted if you give him, say ten minutes?" I asked quietly, and saw the resignation in Lestrade's face.

"Ten minutes, then I take him to the Yard, right, Sherlock?"  
I shrug. "Please begin, Mr. McFarlane, you indicated he had contacted you to arrange a meeting to discuss some work he hoped you would undertake for him..."

"Yes, you are quite correct in your theory about my work, I repair and restore antique books, and have a small but I believe unique collection that a few people know of, somehow Mr. Oldacre had learned of me and found my website. He wanted to meet to discuss a valuable collection that he wanted evaluated, but wanted to meet me, in order to, as he put it 'get a feeling about' my character, and then he could decide if he wanted to hire me."


	23. Chapter 23

Sherlock seemed intrigued by McFarlane in a way I hadn't seen since Irene Adler made her brief but astonishing entrance into our lives. He was still recovering from his two years away, but his deductive skills were almost at full power.

"Were you able to meet?" He asked our newly acquired client.

"Yes, I took a long train ride to visit his mostly closed up estate. One of the few rooms that remained open and well maintained was a beautiful library, full of valuable first editions. I couldn't believe my good fortune. Mr. Oldacre invited me to select a few books to examine and went so far as to allow me to take a couple home with me. He informed me that it was originally his intention to leave his collection to his university, but when he learned of my work, he had decided to leave the collection in its entirety to me. A perfect stranger. To say the least, I was flabbergasted. He had laughed and said, "when I learned that a young man had decided to dedicate his life to the preservation and restoration of antique volumes, I knew you were much more deserving of the windfall."

"But?" My flatmate prompted, hearing something in McFarlane's voice that made him sit up a bit taller.

"I nearly missed the last train back, he had started showing me his favourite novels, and I lost track of the time. But, he had his driver get me there right on time. I was so excited, I called my mum to tell her my news. At first, she was just as thrilled, then asked my benefactor's name. I heard her drop the phone. When she got back on the line, she said, "Son, please, please, return anything he has given you, and make any excuses you can not to see him again."

"As you can imagine, my heart sank. I knew it was too good to be true. She told me he had been her fiance before marrying my dad, and she had discovered a streak of cruelty within him. She knew she would have had a much easier life monetarily if she had stayed with him, but could not stand to be in his presence any longer. She left him, met my dad, and he has left us alone until now."

Sherlock rested his fingertips together. "Lestrade, you have found no body? The fire only burned the library, but apparently it did not destroy the entire collection?"

"Correct, Sherlock, but I have to to take Mr. McFarlane with me, now, a deal is a deal."

"Yes, yes, of course. Mr. McFarlane, have no worries, I need to visit Mr Oldacre's estate, but I believe you shall be free shortly. Did he in fact make a will leaving you his collection?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes, he did."

"Then, I do believe that you will become a rather wealthy book owner as well as an entirely vindicated man when this story is cleared up."

"Lestrade, we will be in touch."


	24. Chapter 24

John looks at me, clearly unsure if I can do this, deal with actually leaving 221B and London for a case.  
"I'm fine, John."  
"Would you tell me if you weren't?"  
We both know the answer, but we pretend anyway.

The three hour train ride almost does me in, but I hide my face feigning interest in the sports page. John observes my hand quiver slightly, but he says nothing. He knows I need to do this. Once I can get out of the carriage and walk, I will be fine. It's just being in an enclosed space that makes it hard to breathe. I can see out, the windows are as open as they can possibly be and we keep the door to our carriage ajar.

"I'm alright, John," I manage to coax from my throat. We decide to walk the two miles to Oldacre's estate, rather than hire a car, knowing I face another interminable ride home later. 

"Right," he says. "Let's do this and get home, yeah?" 

I nod, hoping that the solution to this puzzle is as simplistic as I believe it to be. We settle into a companionable silence as we breathe in the country air, tinged with a hint of smoke from the fire at the estate.


	25. Chapter 25

Sherlock has reread the same sentence of the article at least four times. I know because his head hasn't moved, he hasn't turned the page. He's trying to calm his breathing, as he looks out the window then to the door. We've been on the train for about an hour. He knows I'm watching him, looking for signs, an excuse to get off on the next stop and go home. But to him, it would be a surrender. A failure, a loss of that control he is so well known for. I am the only one who knows how hard he has fought the last month to battle the nightmares and the doubts that he can get back to where he was before he 'died.'

I see the long fingers grasping tightly to a recent sports section, left from a previous traveler, grounding him here, in the present. On his way to solve a case, nothing more. He is focused on the simple act of breathing. I can feel him counting to himself, reminding himself where he is, on a train with his blogger, on his way to solve a case.

We finally reach our destination. The train stops, we disembark. There are cars for hire, but I look at his face and suggest, "We could walk, stretch our legs, hmm? It's only two miles, and it's a beautiful day?"

"Thank you, John. Yes, walking is a brilliant idea the fresh air will help clear the cobwebs. I am alright, John."  
"Right. Let's do this and get home, yeah?"  
He relaxes at the mention of home and we set off, I am reminded of those days when we were inseparable, ran ourselves ragged, case after case, exhausted and bruised but together. Once we set a comfortable pace, he begins to ramble through the few facts that we know, mumbling more to himself than to me, but it reminds me of our first case, and I allow myself a brief grin.

"So, I'm filling in for your skull?"  
"Relax, you're doing fine."


	26. Chapter 26

"Why would a man invite the son of a former fiance to his estate, let him know he will inherit a fortune in antique books, which would change his life for the better, except to set him up for his murder, thus revenging himself upon the woman who left him so long ago?"

"I-"

"Now we just have to prove he isn't dead at all, I just need to examine the house, hopefully the proof is there to exonerate our client."

He settled into silence again, as we made our way to Oldacre's estate, then suddenly asked, "Tell me John, if you don't mind, of your life the last two years, I haven't asked because I thought you might not want-"

"It's fine, Sherlock, I don't mind, though I'm sure my life was boring compared to y-" He stops walking. I realize that's what he needs to hear, about my every day 'normal' life that he had preserved for me by leaving.

"I went back to work after a couple of weeks, saw Ella for appearance's sake, mostly kept to myself except for the occasional pint and match with Greg, visited your gravestone most days, told you about my ridiculous patients, went home had take away and watched way too much crap telly."

"Thank you, John."  
"What for?"  
"For being there, for believing in me, there were days when I didn't believe in myself. For a time I counted the days I was gone, then I stopped because the days started blurring together. Most days all I could think of was the next job, the next way out; but there were moments when I could almost imagine you there typing at the blog, while I did my best to blow up the kitchen. You got me through the hardest days, John."

I'm not sure what to say to him, this is probably the most he will ever tell me of his time away, and I know how hard it must be for him to tell me anything at all. So, I simply say, "You are still the best and wisest man I have ever known. I knew if there was any way for you to return you would."

Neither of us have ever been good with emotions, so we both clear our throats and walk on. Soon, the estate is in view, the blackened, damaged section is obvious, the smokiness becomes stronger than it was. For just a moment, I feel him hesitate, then he pulls himself together, and I know my friend has returned, the wheels are churning, clicking into place.

"C'mon, John. Lestrade is already waiting for us."


	27. Chapter 27

Lestrade was indeed waiting for us at the entrance to the estate, almost bouncing in his impatience. "About time, guys, I can't hold the scene much longer."

Sherlock pushed past Lestrade. "Show me."

Lestrade smirked, "I don't think you will pull your rabbit out of the hat this time, Sherlock..."

"I need to examine the house, and the remains of the library."

Lestrade raises an eyebrow at me. I shrug. I'm not sure what Sherlock's theory is, but I've learned not to doubt him.

Sherlock is already in the library, pacing the room. "Is this all that burned?" He points to the small section surrounding the fireplace and the wall adjacent to it. "What did you recover from the fireplace?"

Lestrade shows him the bagged evidence, a scrap of material and a few buttons.

Sherlock snorts. "Really, Lestrade? No bones, hair, teeth, even?"

Lestrade shakes his head, "enough evidence to get a warrant to search McFarlane's flat, where we found the books with Oldacre's name inscribed, and his own admission that Oldacre told him he was mentioned in his will, not to mention-"

Sherlock waves him off impatiently, "Circumstantial and you know it, Lestrade."  
Lestrade grins, "Prove me wrong, Sherlock. We know Oldacre was a nasty piece of work, but, all the evidence points to..."  
"A set-up, plain and simple."  
"Prove it."  
Sherlock paces the library again, then heads for the stairs. He wanders through the upstairs, knocks on the walls, sighs, then returns to the library.  
"It feels off, I'm not sure what it is, but something..."  
"I'll give you 24 hours, then I'm booking your client, it's the best I can do."  
Sherlock nods, then starts pacing again, examining each section of wall, each corner, each crevice.  
"Where are all the books, Lestrade? McFarlane mentioned a library full of books, the remains here may be a couple dozen worth of ash.."  
I grin for a moment.  
Sherlock notices and he scowls for a moment, then comprehends, returning my grin. He rubs his face, then tells Lestrade, "24 hours. John and I will find a place in town, investigate as long as we can tonight, then we will meet you back here in 24 hours."  
Lestrade puts out his hand, "24 hours."

Lestrade goes out to talk to his team. I look at Sherlock and ask, "What are we looking for?"  
"Evidence that Oldacre is still in the house, he is a builder, he may have found a way to add a room. I can't see it yet, but the rooms don't seem to fit together quite right. If I just had blueprints, that would help."  
"Let's see if the blueprints are stored at the town archives..."  
"Brilliant, John! Can you find out and send me images of both floors and the outside dimensions?"  
Definitely like the old days, I think to myself, but I hear the spark in his voice, reminiscent of the old Sherlock, that I nod, letting him know it may take some time.  
"Please, John?"  
I blink at him, trying not to ask him to repeat himself, and turn to go before I say another word.


	28. Chapter 28

I found the blueprints eventually, of course they had been 'misfiled' due to a new system, the last recorded modification of the house was completed ten years ago, hopefully, we could discover the answers in the plans I had made copies of.

Sherlock was pacing the bedroom of the B&B he had found when I returned with the information. 

Hours and several cups of tea later:

"Hmmm, yes, yes...I believe I have it John! I knew there were measurements that didn't add up, there is something like a panic room built into the house, perhaps he built it during the last renovation, more likely he did it without leaving the plans for everyone to see."

Again, the gleam in his eye and the strength of his voice, the confidence he had in the solution that was taking shape in his mind, gave me chills, to see my old friend returning to form made me breathe easier.

"I'm going to turn out the light, Sherlock. I'm exhausted, and a few hours sleep couldn't hurt..."

"Yes, John, you old worry wort, I'll be to bed soon, just want to get these plans clear in my mind. And, yes you are quite right, it does feel good to have the old machinery clicking along again."

"Sherlock..."  
"I know what you meant John, and most days, it would be easier if I were a machine, but honestly, I am just as human as you are, my friend."  
"I do know that."  
"Yes, I believe you do. Good night, John."

He was still working with the blueprints as I finally fell asleep, and by the time the early morning light crept in through our windows, he was up and dressed and had placed a cup of tea by the bed for me.

"I know how he did it, John, it was brilliant and devious, not to mention cruel, but I know how to catch him out, and make him pay for trying to frame up an innocent man. Come, John! The day is wasting away!

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming, right behind you, just give a fella a chance, yeah?"


	29. Chapter 29

We walked to the estate to meet Lestrade as agreed. Sherlock could barely contain his glee in having pulled another 'rabbit' from his hat. I wasn't completely sure that Lestrade would go along with his plan for revealing Oldacre's hiding place.

When we met up with Lestrade, he was bouncing on his toes, a slight grin tugging at his mouth. "Sorry, Sherlock, I know your man is guilty."

"What?" My friend's face fell noticeably. "What are you on about, Lestrade?"

Lestrade showed us a place on the wall and revealed a thumbprint. "My guys discovered this when we arrived this morning."

Sherlock couldn't hold back his laughter, "Lestrade! I do believe you are going to tell me that is young McFarlane's print? Really? No, it's too much."

Lestrade nodded.

Sherlock attempted to smother a grin, and it seemed he almost felt a bit of sympathy for his friend. "Greg. That print was discovered this morning simply because it was not there yesterday. I thoroughly examined that wall specifically, because of its newer appearance, there was no thumb print, nor any other print there until after we had left and McFarlane was safely in your custody. Which further backs my theory that Oldacre remains in the house, very much alive."

Lestrade groaned and rolled his eyes.

Sherlock told Lestrade his plan to draw Oldacre from his hiding place. Unsurprisingly, Lestrade gave in; he knew he had been beaten once again, and wanted to get this case closed as quickly as possible.

We built up a small fire in the fireplace, and as soon as the smoke began to fill the room, we all yelled, "Fire! Fire!"

Quick as a flash, the very wall that held the suspect print slid away and an opening revealed a small, disagreeable ferret-like man. His fear overrode his natural arrogance and was almost pitiful as he glanced around him.

"Damn," he growled. "You found me out. I was so close to making her last years on earth as hellish as the last 25 years have been for me."

Sherlock gazed at him with a curious look upon his face. "You did not love his mother. If you ever felt any iota of real feeling for her, you could not have put her and her son through this trial. Lestrade, is there any way you can make an attempted murder charge stick?"

"We should be able to find a charge to fit the crime, Sherlock. Thank you again for your assistance, I am profoundly grateful that we did not have to keep the young man imprisoned longer than what was necessary to keep him safe."

"Uh hmmm, yeah, ok, Gavin." Sherlock's eyes twinkled as he shook Lestrade's hand. "Anytime. You know where we are."

We boarded the train to return to London and home. For once, Sherlock was unable to resist the movement of the train as it sped along the tracks, and he fell asleep within minutes of leaving the station. He slept all the way to our station.

"Sherlock," I shook his shoulder. "We are back in London."

"John?" He yawned and stretched, joints creaked and popped, as he shook himself awake. 

"Yes, I'm here." 

"I'm starving," he said, a bit surprised. 

"Dim Sum?" I ask. 

"Perfect." He grinned as he pulled his collar up, as we made our way into the midday sunlight. 


	30. Chapter 30

Some time elapsed since our successful completion of the Oldacre case. The builder had been charged with fraud and wrongful imprisonment. He would only serve a brief period of time if convicted, but, the will he had made, leaving McFarlane the better part of a million pound estate worth of first editions was declared valid and someday McFarlane would be a wealthy man. The publicity of the case made his name well-known in the antique book business, and as a result, he had more business than he knew what to do with.

It was a warm July evening when I arrived home from another long day of bumps, bruises, and broken bones; worried mothers and screaming kids seemed even louder on a day as humid as today.

As I opened the door to the flat, Sherlock said in his best "really John, how dull" voice: "Why don't you quit then, John, we don't need the money, and I do appreciate your assistance on the cases."

I opened my mouth to retort when I saw the walls that Sherlock was pacing in front of. "What are those?" I asked, knowing it was a stupid question. The walls were covered in pages of rows of stick figures. To my mind, it appeared to be nothing more than a child's exercise. However, there seemed to be some order to it, some characters repeated themselves, and there appeared to be some punctuation. "Code of some kind?"

"Excellent, John, that is my thought as well. These were sent as an attachment from a Hilton Cubitt, of Norfolk. As childish as they seem, they are terrifying his wife. Mr. Cubitt is on his way here to bring more examples. A very intriguing case, John!"

At that moment, we heard heavy steps come up the stairs. A youngish man appeared, apparently a farmer, as his weather beaten face and dress indicated. "Mr. Holmes, I see you have already seen the drawings, what do you make of it?"

Sherlock ran his eyes over our new client and murmured, "Intriguing, indeed."


	31. Chapter 31

"Please, Mr. Cubitt, have a seat, you must be tired after your walk from the station. No, you ran all the way here, didn't you?"

Our client nodded, as he sat in the chair we reserve for our clients, comfortable, yet not too much so, as we didn't want them sitting there all day.

"What do you make of the drawings, Mr. Holmes? I don't know why they should frighten Elsie so, she's one of the strongest people I know, man or woman, and yet, she fainted dead away when she saw the first characters."

"You've spent time in the States, yes?"

"Briefly, for a job, it's where I met my wife...how do you know?"

"You have a bit of an American accent, though it is probably more from speaking with your wife, who was raised in New York?

"Yes, you are quite right, Mr. Holmes, she was working as a waitress, when I met her. She worked as an actress when she could get parts, but when I met her, she was between shows."

"Do you know anything about her background?"

At this, Mr. Cubitt jumped up from his chair. "I know nothing at all. I know, it may sound foolish, but when we met, we both knew, if you know what I mean?"

I nodded with a bit of a smile, while Sherlock's usually perceptive face was blank. "You knew? What did you know?"

Our client blushed and stumbled slightly over his words, "I, uhm, we, fell in love the minute we saw each other..."

Sherlock muttered under his breath, "...what fools these mortals be."

Loudly enough to be heard, Sherlock murmured, "Please continue."

"Well, my job was only for a few more weeks, then I would be returning home. I, uhm, asked her to marry me and come back to Norfolk with me. To my surprise, she immediately accepted the proposal, and she was willing to leave when my job ended."

"This did not strike you as odd, Mr. Cubitt?"

"It did cross my mind briefly, but, I didn't care. I was more worried how she would adjust to living and working on my farm, after living her life in New York City. She said she didn't mind, she wanted to be with me, it didn't matter where. The only odd thing was that she asked me never to ask of her past life, her family was gone, she said, and she didn't like to talk about it."

"You never tried to find out anything?" Sherlock inquired, leaning forward on his knees, fingers together in his 'pondering pose' as I like to call it.

"No, perhaps, I should have, looking back now, but everything was perfect until the 'dancing men' as I call them started showing up, a few weeks ago. The first one was only five characters, and I thought it was cute, so I showed it to her, thinking we'd get a laugh out of it. But, her face paled and she would have fallen if I hadn't caught her."

"So, she knows what it is and won't tell you what it means?"

"No, she won't and I don't know what to do, that is why I contacted you, Mr. Holmes. Please, tell me what to do?"

"All I can suggest is you go home to your wife and try to get her to tell you their meaning. I don't see what I can possibly do here. There is no crime, just a woman with a secret. I am sorry, Mr. Cubitt."

"You're right, Mr. Holmes, I'm sorry I wasted your time." He shook hands with us both and dejectedly walked down our stairs and back into the London sunlight. It was the last we would see of our client until we examined his corpse in a Norfolk morgue.


	32. Chapter 32

A few days after we interviewed Mr. Cubitt, Lestrade entered our flat, with a case that was one of the few that Sherlock did not want to take.

"A man and his wife were shot on a farm in Norfolk two days ago, the man is dead, wife is in a coma..."

"Hilton Cubitt and his wife, Elsie perhaps?" Sherlock was reworking an old composition and not paying Lestrade much attention.

"How did you know, Sherlock?" Lestrade queried, a bit shocked, even for Sherlock, it was a bit much.

"I've had a bad feeling about his case since I sent him on his way," Sherlock sighed. "I should have at least visited the farm and met his wife."

"You had no idea this would happen, Sherlock." I tried softening the blow, though I felt it as well.

"I've been working on the 'dancing men' but without enough examples, it is difficult to crack the code."

Lestrade looked at the wall, "Dancing men, eh'? The Inspector on the case did say there were some odd child's drawings at the scene, scratched into a window sill."

Sherlock turned quickly to me, "John?"

I nod and leave the room to gather what we need for the three hour trip. I pack overnight bags, just in case. By the time I return to the lounge, Lestrade has left and my flatmate is ready to depart.


	33. Chapter 33

This time, Sherlock was too lost in his own thoughts to pay attention to his surroundings. I left our car for coffee, I asked whether he needed anything, he shook his head. I knew he had already filed this case away as one of his few failures. I also knew that there was little I could say that would ease his mind. 

Lestrade had managed to get the local people to take some decent photos of the drawings that had been scratched into the window sill. He texted them to Sherlock, so at least his mind could be occupied for most of the trip.

"I think I have it, John. I'll need to look around the property to see if there additional messages, but I think I can prove that Elsie is innocent of her husband's murder. She may be indirectly responsible for his death, but I don't believe she pulled the trigger."

"Someone from the States?"

"That is my thought, perhaps she was engaged to someone else? Someone she feared, or the marriage was arranged against her wishes, hopefully we can break the code and put a name to the shooter."

He sat back and closed his eyes, and remained silent until our train arrived at the station.

We hired a car, and asked directions to the Cubitt farm. The woman who rented the car to us looked us over, and said sadly, "They were such a lovely couple, I'd never seen Hilton so happy as he was with Elsie. There is no way she did what they say she did, she adored him."

Sherlock nodded. "I will do my best to prove her innocence, it is the least I can do."


	34. Chapter 34

We arrived at the Cubitt farm, obviously a property run carefully over generations by careful and sober people. Sherlock sighed as we were allowed entrance into the main house. He addressed the housekeeper, "any change in her condition?"

"No, Mr. Holmes. I do hope you can find some way of helping her, sir."

"I will do my best, I will need your assistance. Please, tell me what you knew of Mr. and Mrs. Cubitt?"

"I knew Hilton since he was a wee lad, he was a lovely man, and never caused any harm to anyone to end as he did. She adored him, and all was well for a couple of years, then in the last couple of months, things began to change."

"Change? Change, how?"

"Elsie began to jump at the slightest noise, and was anxious about checking the post. Her easy smiles seemed forced, and no matter how he begged, she wouldn't tell Hilton what the matter was, she just kept begging him to trust her. Then, the strange childish drawings started appearing around the farm. I saw the first one, drawn into the dirt, I commented on it to her and she asked me to show it to her. Her face went dead white and she started shivering. I had to help her to bed, and she asked me to tell Hilton that she was unwell, but that she would be better by morning."

"After that morning she asked him again to trust her, but she couldn't tell him what was wrong, it was nothing he had done, and she begged him for time. He sighed and nodded, then went out to work in the fields again. A couple of days later, I found more drawings and showed him, I know I should've kept it to myself, but I owed it to him, I thought if he knew about them, he might be able to help her. It's my fault he's dead," she whispered, on the verge of losing her tight mask of control that kept her from weeping.

"No," replied Sherlock, showing a softness I'd not seen him show a witness, "this is not on you."  
"I should have come back with Mr. Cubitt when he left Baker Street; all I can hope to do is find those responsible, and do all I can to assist in their apprehension. Is there anyone here in charge of the crime scene that I may speak to?"

"Yes, there's an inspector here, but he is under the impression that she killed him, then in remorse tried to kill herself. Hmmmph. She is made of sterner stuff, Mr. Holmes. I was out at the shops, that morning, came home and found him dead and her just as good as, but I know what I know, sir."

"Good. I will do my best, Mrs....?"  
"Ms. Brown, never married myself, but always thought of him as my son, you find who did this, Mr. Holmes, please?"  
"I promise."


	35. Chapter 35

Instead of examining the crime scene, as I expected him to do, Sherlock asked the housekeeper if he could see the bedroom where the couple slept. 

"They had slept together in the larger bedroom until recently, but when the messages came, she began to beg off, saying she had a headache, and would sleep in the other bedroom so as not to disturb him. He told her that he understood, but he was unhappy with the arrangement."

"Then let us begin with her room, that may tell us more about the recent changes in her behaviour."

Ms. Brown showed us into a bright, pale yellow room, which should have been cheerful, but somehow Elsie's unhappiness conveyed itself, the too neatly made bed showed a lack of sleep, and on the desk in her diary, she had written down the codes she had received, in elegant, careful drawings. Over and over, she had drawn the dancing men, perhaps writing a letter to the one who ended her husband's life.

"Ah-ha! John, look, she left the decoded alphabet in her diary, she must have trusted her husband enough to believe he would never invade her privacy. I should have-"

"No. You had no idea it would come to this, Sherlock. The only person to blame is the man who killed Mr. Cubitt."

"I should have come to at least interview Elsie, perhaps she would have confided in me?"

"I doubt it, she would not tell the man she supposedly loved, why would she tell you, a perfect stranger?"

He gave up, and began to translate the messages. After an hour, he dropped his pen, and sighed. "The man we are searching for is Abe Slaney, and from what I can gather, he had been engaged to Elsie from a very young age, but Elsie had left the family, and was trying to create a new life for herself when she met Cubitt. Somehow Slaney discovered that she had left the States, and married; I assume her father had people track down her whereabouts, presumably to bring her home. But, she resisted Slaney's messages, begging him to leave her alone, that she was happy."

"I know where Slaney is staying. I will send him a message using the dancing men, signing Elsie's name, as if she is well enough to receive him. We will be ready when he arrives, as I doubt he will believe that anyone else knows of the code. Intriguing in this age of technology that organizations will still create their own language in order to communicate. Very effective."

Soon the message was written, and the housekeeper delivered it to the inn where Slaney was staying.


	36. Chapter 36

Sherlock spent some time going over the crime scene with the local Inspector, who wasn't quite as sharp as Lestrade, but eventually was convinced that Elsie was not involved with the violence that took her husband's life. In fact, Sherlock showed that two weapons had been fired, as he retrieved a bullet from the door frame which did not match the bullet taken from Cubitt's body. "I hope that Mr. Slaney will be able to clear Mrs. Cubitt of any wrongdoing, though, it is possible that Mr. Cubitt fired the first shot, I'm assuming in defense of his wife and home."

"Alright, Mr. Holmes, I know of your past successes and have spoken to DI Lestrade, so I am trusting you and Dr. Watson to deal with this Mr. Slaney. We will be here as back up and to take him into custody, if necessary."

"John, do you have your gun?"  
"Of course." I patted my jacket pocket, ready as always.

It didn't take long for Mr. Slaney to answer our summons. There was a nervous tap at the french doors, "Elsie?" He had a very strong American accent, from somewhere in the Northeast, probably New York or New Jersey.

"Elsie? Love? I'm here." He peered in, looking around cautiously before stepping into the room.  
"Put your hands where I can see them," I whisper in his ear.  
"Wha-? Who are you?"  
"Friends of Elsie and Hilton Cubitt, Mr. Slaney." Sherlock stood up, walked over to the defeated man, and reached into his jacket to pull out the weapon used to kill Hilton Cubitt.  
"But, she sent me a message, no one here knows the code but her. Where is she?"  
"She is in hospital, barely alive. Do you want to tell us what happened here, Mr. Slaney?"  
"No! She was fine when I left her! You have to believe me! He fired first, I was just defending myself, then when I saw he was dead, I panicked. She collapsed over his body, screaming. I just ran."  
"John, you read the report of the doctor who is treating her, is it possible her wound was self-inflicted?"  
"It was a chest wound, unusual, but I believe the placement indicates that it could have been a suicide attempt."

At this, Slaney slid to the floor. "All I wanted was to claim what was promised to me. Her father gave her hand to me when we were teenagers, she did love me at one point, but then she realized what her father did and wanted no part of it. Somehow she was able to escape into New York City. She changed her name, her appearance and took no money from her family. Then I heard through the grapevine that she had come over here and married a farmer. So, I used the old code we used as kids to let her know I still wanted her. She kept telling me to go away. That she was happy. I couldn't believe it, until I saw her collapse over his body. But, he did fire first, I had pulled my weapon just in case, and instinct just took over, I didn't want to kill anyone, just wanted my girl back."

"Inspector?" Sherlock called out.  
"Yes, Mr. Holmes. We will take that weapon, sir. I'm afraid he will probably only be charged with manslaughter, especially if Mrs. Cubitt recovers her sense enough to testify, and backs up his story."

"John. I think we are done here. Home?"  
"Home."


	37. Chapter 37

We returned home somewhat defeated. In the end, Elsie made a full recovery, and in her reluctant testimony admitted that her late husband had indeed fired the first shot, but that Abe Slaney had been an invader of her home and her peace. Slaney eventually changed his plea to guilty and would serve 5 years for his role in Hilton Cubitt's unfortunate death. Elsie carried on at the farm with the help of Ms. Brown, and became a much loved member of the community.

Sherlock threw himself into work upon our return. He took on anything, even a case or two from Mycroft, much to his brother's surprise. Finally, one night, after the conclusion of a problem that in years past would have qualified as a 2 at the most, he struggled up the stairs, and fell onto the couch, completely knackered. 

"People!" He grumbled.  
"I told you, it wasn't worth putting your coat on for."  
"I'm so tired, John."  
"I know. Sit up, let me help."  
Slowly, he put his feet on the floor, and allowed me to help him out of his coat and shoes.  
"When did you last eat?"  
"Don't remember."  
"C'mon, the soup is almost ready. Go get a shower, and I'll make some tea, yeah?"  
After a long moment, he threw himself from the couch and limped into the loo.   
Half an hour later, he emerged in his normal 'couch potato' attire and slumped into the chair across from me.  
I had made his favourite french onion soup, he paused as he breathed in the aroma. "You didn't have to go to the trouble," he mumbled, "but thank you."  
"What's with the limp?"  
"Mmm?"  
"I noticed you limped into the loo?"  
"Oh. Tripped. Nothing to worry about."  
"You never trip."  
"I was tripped by the culprit's 6 year old daughter as he was trying to run."  
"No." I try to stifle a snort of laughter about to escape. I fail badly.  
"Yes, very funny, John," he snarls, though I see a twinkle in his eye.  
He takes his time over the soup. I've noticed that since his return that he actually enjoys eating now, and he comments on the cheese I've used.   
"Where did you get the Gruyere? It's perfect."  
"There's a cheese shop that opened while you were gone. I go there often enough for them to consider me a regular."  
Finally, he pushed back from the table and nodded at me. "Thank you, John. I don't think I tell you that enough, but I do appreciate you. Now, I'm going to go sleep for a week."


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Solitary Cyclist with a few twists.

Her name was Violet Smith.

But, I'm getting a little ahead of myself. Over the next few weeks, Sherlock had finally recovered a bit of the equilibrium and ego that had been bruised during the 'dancing men' case, and had finally managed to get enough flexibility in his fingers to play his violin. Not up to his standards, of course, but I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the first notes come from his instrument.

"Damnit!" He growled, "I sound terrible, John!"  
"You'll get better, it will just take time."  
He placed the violin back in his case, and threw himself on the couch, intending to settle in for an afternoon sulk of epic proportions, when Mrs. Hudson walked in.   
"Bell broken again, Sherlock? You have a client who is in need of assistance."  
"I'm busy."  
"I've looked over your last cases on the blog, Mr. Holmes, and your workload has been pitiful as late. Definitely not worth your time."  
He turned at the sound of her voice, strong, deep, but definitely feminine; he openly glared at her. Educated, had an advanced degree in music, barely eked out a living teaching the spoiled brats of the upper class, drop dead gorgeous and engaged to be married.

"Yes, all correct, Mr. Holmes."  
He had opened his mouth to blurt out his assessment of her, and quickly shut it again.  
"Violet."  
"Sherlock. Long time no see."  
"John, allow me to introduce you to my half sister, Violet Smith."


	39. Chapter 39

At last, my fingers had healed enough so I could attempt to play again. Though I grumbled at John, after weeks of nothing cases and sheer exhaustion, the first notes I managed to draw out of my violin feel like Christmas. Of course, it was at that moment that Violet walked back into my life.

"Violet."  
"Sherlock. Long time no see."  
"John, allow me to introduce you to my half-sister, Violet Smith."

I watched John's face, he opened his mouth, but couldn't make a sound. He got up from his chair and did what he always does when under stress, made tea.

"Does mum know where you are?"  
"No. I'm not here to get back into good graces or kiss Mycroft's arse to get my funds reinstated."  
"Why are you here, Violet?"  
"I need you. I'm being followed around town, and it's starting to get weird. 'Lock, please, I can pay you. I'm sorry I disappeared on you, I just couldn't do it anymore. It wasn't you-"  
"Tea?" John reappeared bearing three cups and Mrs. Hudson's second best teapot that had recently gone through a few rounds of bleach to remove any trace of the last mould experiment.  
"Violet, this is my flat mate and blogger-"  
"John Watson," she answered. "I've followed the blog from the beginning, you almost manage to make my big brother seem human."

She laughed that laugh, that deep, yet breezy chuckle that always put me in a better mood when we were kids.  
"Why me, Violet and why now?"  
"Because I knew you were back and taking cases again, and mine will give you something to chew on, unless you want to search for another poodle?"  
John snorts, I try not to smile, I can't get dragged back into her life again.  
"I'm clean, Lock, you know I am, been sober for years, finally have a real job, a great girlfriend, we're getting hitched in a couple weeks, but I'm scared. I need your help.  
"I haven't seen you in what, 15 years? Nothing for 15 years, Vi? You even managed to avoid Big Brother this long, and you just show up one day needing my help?"  
"I'll explain, I swear. Please? You know how often I ask for anything, I really need you."

I walk over to the window and look down into Baker Street, and take a deep breath.  
"Where did we go to hide from father, Vi?"  
"The hollow tree by the pond. You gave me your blessing when I came out, you were the only one. I know I let you down when I left, 'Lock, can we try again?"  
"Ten minutes, Vi, then I'll decide. Try not to bore me."


	40. Chapter 40

If I hadn't already known that she was related to the Holmes brothers, I would've thought some mad scientist slammed together Sherlock's cheekbones, eyes and lips with Mycroft's aquiline nose and his auburn hair to create the person who sat in front of us. Her long, tapered fingers tapped out a composition on the arms of the chair.

Sherlock sat quietly, eyes closed, fingers in the pondering pose, though I noted a slight twitch.

"How do you know it's not just Big Brother-"  
"C'mon, you think I don't know what his minions look like? I was on the street longer than you, 'Lock, I'm not a moron."  
"Vi-not here."  
"What? John doesn't know all about our lovely adolescence and early twenties yet?"  
"He knows enough. If you are not going to tell me what is going on that has you so freaked out now, you can go. I'm not having a discussion about our past in front of John. NOT going to HAPPEN. Understand me?"

I had not heard Sherlock ever speak to anyone in that tone before, quiet yet close to erupting, not even his brother could move him to this. I could feel his absolute rage burbling to the surface.

" 'Lock, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."  
She walked over to his chair, and knelt in front of him. She placed her hands on his knees, and looked into his eyes.  
"Forgive me, please? Look at me, 'Lock?"  
He opened his eyes and looked down at her. "Vi," he whispered. "You don't know what you did when you left. You were all I had in that house, and when you-"  
"I know, I should have found a way to contact you. I knew where you were when you finally left home. I just couldn't face you, it got harder, and then it became impossible. I know I will never be able to apologize enough, but I am scared, 'Lock. It's not Myc."  
She removed her hands, stood and returned to her chair.

"It started a few weeks ago-"


	41. Chapter 41

"It started a few weeks ago-"

Sherlock rolls his eyes, "What started, Vi?"

"I was doing well enough with my private students who come to the flat I share with Annie, then all of a sudden, my students stopped showing up. Some parents called with some excuse, most just didn't show again. Then, I get invited to be interviewed for a position at a posh girls' school. The story was their piano instructor left due to maternity leave and an alumnus had recommended me because their daughter 'adored' me. Still don't know who recommended me. It smelled a bit fishy, but, I thought I'd give it a try to see what was going on. Everything was great for a month. The students are great, the head mistress is a lovely person, there are a couple of odd spinsters who don't agree with my 'politics', but other than that, it was the best job I've had."

"Until???" Sherlock's well-documented short attention span when it came to listening to people other than himself was rearing its ugly head.

" 'Lock, chill. out. I'm getting there, yeah? Don't interrupt."

John stifled a chuckle and went to make some fresh tea.

"I usually cycle to work, the weather has been gorgeous, and my route takes me through Hyde Park, it's beautiful and the quickest way to work. The last couple of weeks, a woman has been following me on my way into work, then again on my way home. I thought, maybe she happened to have the same hours, but I took a slightly different route one day, and she was there again. She is attempting to disguise herself, different wigs, outfits, even different bikes-"

"Then how do you know it's the same person?"

"Oh, here we go," groaned Sherlock.

Violet laughed, "You know that 'brilliant' deduction thing he does? It's a Holmes' parlour trick. Myc is best at it, but only uses it to start wars in third world countries; 'Lock uses his powers for good, and I used my skills to survive on the street, then getting my doctorate in music theory when I got clean. I can read body language like 'Lock here can read a crime scene. I know what makes people tick and I know how to act accordingly, as long as I'm not related to them, huh, 'Lock?"

"Ever see her before?"

"She seems familiar, like I should remember her, but I can't place her, and that is what is freaking me out. I remember everyone. But, she is fuzzy. It's like my brain is purposely trying to make me not remember her. You know what I mean, 'Lock."

He nods.  
"But why come here today, Vi, did something happen today to scare you badly enough to come see me?"

"I set a trap for her today, just to test my theory that she was actually really trailing me, and instead of fleeing, she chased me through traffic. I almost crashed a couple of times. When I finally lost her I came straight here, my bike is a disaster. I'm afraid to go home, 'Lock. I'm worried about Annie's safety, we are due to be married soon. I thought maybe it had something to do with that, we put an announcement in the Times, just our initials, I just wanted to do something traditional for once."

Sherlock actually grins at her, "I know, Vi."

"I don't know what to do, 'Lock, will you help me, please?"

Sherlock stands and walks over to her, "Did you honestly think I wouldn't help, Vi? I just wish we hadn't wasted all those years apart. I've missed you, you idiot."


	42. Chapter 42

Violet jumped up from her chair and hugged him, he froze, then laughed and squeezed her back, "You haven't changed much, have you, Vi?"

"Will you and John come to the flat and meet Annie? She can't believe that you are my big brother, I haven't told her everything either, but, I may need to if my mystery cyclist is from my past. I have to run home and tell her the good news, but will you, come for dinner tonight, please, 'Lock?"

Sherlock glances over at me and I shrug, "We'll be there, Vi, what time?"

She looks at her phone, "Damn, uhm, give me a couple of hours to whip something up? Say, 8 o'clock? Here's my address," she wrote it down on a scrap paper, "just in case Big Brother is listening."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and muttered, "see you at 8, Vi, can we bring anything?"  
"Just yourselves, you have no idea how much this means to me, 'Lock."  
Sherlock nods and kisses her on the cheek, "just be safe getting home, Vi."

Violet dashes down the stairs and Sherlock watches from the window as she hails as a cab, she has the same gift for summoning them as he does.

"So....Violet?" I ask.

"My father had an affair, her mother died in childbirth and when my mother found out, she insisted he bring her home. She was adopted within weeks of her birth. I was three, Mycroft was 10. From early on, I was her protector. Once she could talk, my father hated her, though she is physically every bit a Holmes, as you noticed, she reminded him too much of her mother, and he couldn't stand the sight of her. Luckily he decided to live in our London flat most of the time, but when he was home, he was a terror. We were best friends, and we were, uhm, a handful, as you may have guessed. Mum tried to keep us out of his way, but-"

"You don't have to tell me this, Sherlock-"

"No, you need to understand a bit before we meet Annie. When she was 18, she left home after she came out to the family. She disappeared. She realized she was a lesbian early on, Mum didn't care, she had always known, but father, he disowned her on the spot, and she left. She had already packed a bag, she had some money saved up, a friend of hers picked her up and that was the last time I saw her until now."


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's exit from the verse, for now. ;)

Sherlock paced nervously while John took his time deciding which jumper to wear.  
"They won't care, John," he snapped.  
"We have almost an hour before they are expecting us, calm down."  
"I am calm-"  
"Go buy some flowers?"  
"Does Vi seem like the flower type?"  
"Maybe Annie is?"  
"Fine. I'll be back in ten minutes."

Sherlock flew down the stairs, only to slam into his brother.  
"New client?"  
"Yes, if you must know. Now, piss off."  
"I'm not having her followed. Please believe me. I respected her decision to walk away, if you need my assist-"  
"Nope. This conversation is over, Mycroft."  
"Sherlock-"  
"No."  
"I never meant for you to lose so much. I didn't know it would take so long-"  
"Stop. Don't do this. Not today, Mycroft. I'm fine. If I wanted to talk about it, which I don't, I wouldn't choose to confide in you. I want you to leave me alone, please?"  
Mycroft nodded and the black car rolled up. "If you need-"  
"I won't, don't worry, Myc. I just need time and space, can you do that?"  
"Done."


	44. Chapter 44

He watched the black car pull away and took a deep breath, hoping against hope that his brother would keep his word. He paused, then came back to himself, and walked the three blocks to the flower shop.

"Flowers...right."  
He remembered how funny he thought it was that his sister's name was Violet. When she had appeared in his life, he had looked at her on his mum's shoulder and said, "not much like a flower, is she, mum?"  
His mum had laughed, and rumpled his hair. "No, not much, but she will need you. She's fragile, and you are stronger than she is, she belongs here with us, and she is part of you."

He stopped and found his reflection in the store front window. How long ago that was, he thought; he had no idea who she was now, but he still felt responsible for her, even though he had done his best not to think of her for years. 

Suddenly, he recalled her, about six years old, sitting next to him, while he read to her about bees. She was weaving a crown of daisies, her thin fingers gently twisting the stems together until the circle was complete. "Here, 'Lock. Maybe the bees will think you are a garden." She placed the crown atop his uncontrollable mess of curls, and beamed at him...

"Flowers." He walked in to the shop and found a bouquet of autumn coloured daisies. Not quite the same, but close enough. He nodded to the girl who wrapped them up and slowly made his way back home to Baker Street.


	45. Chapter 45

They pull up to the flat at five til eight, John pays the fare and hops out, and suddenly, Sherlock would rather be at home watching a Bond movie.

"Sherlock. Sherlock! Come on, you need to do this, for yourself, not for her. I could tell how much you missed her. Get out of the cab, or I'll tell her you dye your hair..."

Sherlock glares at John, but grabs the flowers and hurls himself out of the cab. He looks up at the window to see Violet grin down at him, and he manages a smirk. In a moment, she appears at the door, still in an apron and her hair a mess.

Sherlock walks up the steps, hands her the flowers and kisses her on the nose. 

"Thought you might back out--daisies! Oh, 'Lock, you remembered! Come in, come in, Annie's almost ready."

The flat is spacious, or would be if not for the piano that takes up most of the front room. 

"Nana's piano," Sherlock murmurs, as he sits down at the instrument, and places his fingers on the keyboard. "How?"

"She left it to me in her will, and one day a couple of years ago, it was delivered here; I think your mum is better at surveillance than Myc. There was a note in her writing, 'My dear, I believe you are ready for this.' That was all, she has never contacted me since the time I left, though there were times when there was more money than there should have been."

"She always loved you, Vi. To her, you were her daughter, the minute you came home. Her face-" He stops and gets up and walks to the window. "Sorry, Vi, maybe this was a mistake. I don't think I'm the right person to help you."

"Violet needs you, Mr. Holmes." A petite, blonde woman walks into the room. "I told her she should have contacted you a long time ago, but she was afraid you wouldn't see her." She glides over to Sherlock, and puts out her hand, "I'm Annie, I'm so glad she was wrong about you."

Sherlock pauses, then takes her hand. "Please, call me Sherlock, Annie. I'm glad she found someone that loves her. I can see that you do."

"Yes. I do, and we need your help. Violet doesn't scare easily, but the last week has been hell on both of us. Please, I know..."

"No, you don't know. But it isn't my place to tell you, that is up to Vi."

Annie has the grace to blush. "Violet, dinner is ready. We don't drink, but we have wine if you would-"

"No, water is fine, let me help?" John says. Annie nods and they vanish into the kitchen.

" 'Lock, I promise I will call mum soon, I'm not ready yet. Please, just a little more time. Once this is cleared up, maybe you and I can visit her together? I'll bring Annie and you can introduce her to John-"

"We aren't together, Vi-"

"What? But, the way you look at him, the way he writes about you, I'm not usually wrong-"

"He's straight, Vi, and even if he weren't, I can't, not since- we are best friends, that's all."

"What happened to you when you were away, 'Lock?"

He shook his head and stared out the window. "No. If I could tell anyone, it would be you, Vi, but I can't. I'm just trying to forget it."

Violet wraps her arm around his waist and leans against his shoulder, "I'm so sorry, sweetie. I know you aren't ready to trust me again, but I'm here, I won't leave you again."

Sherlock relaxes into her and takes a deep breath, "I know, Vi."


	46. Chapter 46

They sit together at the kitchen table, Violet has made paella, her specialty, and of course, a favourite of Sherlock's from when they were kids. "Vi-" he sighs, "it's been years since I've had this, no one could make it like you." 

Violet beams, and grins at Annie. "See, I told you John's stories about him not eating weren't quite true."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "You know I can't think when I eat like you 'average' people. Not good for casework."

Annie pushes away her plate. "What about Violet's story, Sherlock? What do you think so far?" 

Sherlock puts his fork down and sits back. "Up to this point, she hasn't threatened you, just chased you this last time, yes?" Violet nods. "Recently, you had your students mysteriously dry up, but you were given a job that you love from out of the blue. The only snag seems to be this cyclist who appears to be following you, which is annoying and creepy, I grant you, but if you had gone to the police they would've laughed you out of the office."

Violet nods, "That's why I tried to ignore it, but when she chased me, it just pushed me over the edge, like Annie said, it takes a lot to scare me, but I'd had enough, especially since I had to trash my bike, the gears were beyond repair."

"I will go to the school and see what I can see, and John and I will be at the park next time you leave work, and see if she shows again. How does that sound?"

Annie smiled. "Thank you, Sherlock, I appreciate it, just having you take it seriously makes me feel better."

Sherlock nodded, "It's an odd little case, it appears there is someone pulling strings and I'm curious about the puppet master. I don't know what the motivation is, but maybe I'm not seeing everything yet. Do you go into work tomorrow?"

"Yes, I leave here about 7, start class at 8, then I usually leave at 5, after I work with the girls who need a little extra practice, so I go through the park around 5:10. "

"Here's my idea, I will appear as a parent looking for a school for my precocious daughter and inquire about the new music instructor, and hear their side of the story."

" 'Lock, you are too well-known these days to get away with that." Vi shook her head.  
John laughed. "There are days when he bounds up the stairs and I say, 'Sherlock isn't home, but if you want to wait, he'll be home shortly,' before I realize it's him. He's quite the chameleon."

Sherlock blushed and Violet gave him the look that said, "See?" He shook his head at her and continued. "Then John and I will be on bikes ourselves at the park, and see what she does when she is outnumbered, how does that sound?"

Violet jumped up from the table and gave him a kiss. "You are the best, 'Lock! You aren't too full for dessert, are you? I have-"

"You didn't!" Sherlock spotted the box that was on the counter and jumped up from the table.

"I did, I hadn't been in that bakery in years, but they still remembered me. They said it was on the house as you had recently helped them put up some shelves? I said, 'You are talking about my brother: tall, thin with dark curly hair, right?' They laughed and admitted they were a little shocked, but that it was definitely you."

Sherlock laughed, opened the box and pulled out a cake, covered in coconut. "I was bored, John was at work, and they needed a hand."

Violet laughs, "John, there were days when the only thing Sherlock wanted when we were in town was this cake, he would be quite the immovable object when he didn't get his way. You know what he's like now, but can you imagine him in a strop at age 7?"

John grins at his flatmate, relieved that the evening hasn't been a disaster, and that they have a real case to work on, finally.


	47. Chapter 47

After Sherlock manages to polish off three huge pieces of cake, much to John's astonishment, they call it a night, as John has an early shift in the morning, but they promise to be at the park in the afternoon.

Annie follows them outside, as Violet starts the dishes. "It means so much to her that you came over, Sherlock. When she got home, she ran out to the shops, then came home and was so quiet as she cooked. I wasn't sure what had happened. But then she started talking and couldn't stop. Then she started bawling, absolutely fell apart on me. She wishes she had done things differently. I know things happened that she won't talk about yet, but she really needs you in her life, Sherlock. When you 'died,' she didn't talk for weeks. If she hadn't had her students and her music, she would've gone back to the streets, and I'm sure I would've lost her. So, thank you for being here tonight, even if you don't want to see her after the case is over, you made her really happy by being here."

Sherlock looks at Annie carefully, then hugs her. "Annie, she is my sister. She is the one who walked out of my life, I have no intention of doing the same to her when the case is solved. I hope she knows me better than that."

Annie kisses him on the cheek and whispers to him, "thank you." She runs back up the stairs and waves to us from the window as our cab pulls up.

"So what didn't you tell them?" John asks once they are back at the flat, drinking tea as they work on their laptops.

"I think I see a Holmes at work here, but not Mycroft. My mum can be quite ruthless when she wants to be. Vi lost her students, but gained a much better job which she loves; yes, there is the cyclist 'following' her, but she was never harmed, just mostly annoyed until today. I think this was her subtle way of scaring Vi into asking me for help."

"Your mum did this?" John asked, nothing a Holmes did shocked him usually, and he had never met Elizabeth Holmes, but couldn't believe this even of a Holmes.

"I'm not positive, I want to meet with the head mistress and see who is following her. I may recognize her as someone from the estate, while Vi might have a slight memory of a child of the estate, I would know her now. To my ears, it does sound a bit Holmesian, and very much a bit like our mum. She knew how devastated I was when Vi left, though she understood her reasons for leaving; she may have decided that her means justified the ends, no matter how it seems to the outside world. She also must have known how it was for Vi when I was gone, which explains the arrival of our Nana's piano around the same time."

John nods in agreement, "But, still-"

"I know how it sounds, but I think she thought this was the only way to get her children back together. Vi was always her daughter, no matter how she came into the world. My mum and father rarely lived together even before she was born, and Vi became a weapon for each of them to use against each other, intentionally or not on my mother's part. But Vi felt it very much and left when she could no longer hide her preference for women. She knew our father would not tolerate what he would consider her defiance, when she made it clear she would never marry a man."

"What will you do, if it is your mum behind this?"

"Take Vi and Annie to visit, our father died while I was gone, there is no reason for her not to go home now."


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A longish chapter, just wanted to get this mostly done today before it leaves my brain.

John goes off to work at 5 am, as Sherlock started his make up for his visit with the Head Mistress of Violet's school. He laughed as he watched his flatmate put a grey wig over his 'dark' hair to disguise his trademark curls.

"Hmmmmph, aren't you running late for work?" Sherlock growled.

"Shall we meet here before we head over?"

"Yes, I'll need time to get out of this getup, and we'll need to borrow some bikes, I think Mike has a couple?"

"I'll call and see if he can drop them off here."

Sherlock spent the morning working on disguising his voice, and becoming a father to a girl of tween years. He slowed his natural quick gait to something a bit more sedate, as appropriate to an elder man of means with a slight limp. He had also changed his quicksilver eyes to deep brown, erasing any trace of the detective.

By 8 o'clock, he was unrecognizable as Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps his mother might see through the disguise, but he was hoping she was safely at home.

At 8:30, he had convinced Ms. Baddeley-Stone that his daughter Penelope would love to attend her school, but needed information on the new Music Instructor, Ms. Smith. He had heard glowing reviews of her predecessor, but had never heard of Ms. Smith and asked where she had been previously employed.

"In all honestly, Lord-"

"Thomas, please, Ms. Baddeley-Stone, call me Thomas."

"Thomas, to be honest, one of our biggest supporters, Mrs. Elizabeth Holmes asked us to take her on when she had heard that our last instructor was going on Maternity Leave. Luckily, Violet is a wonderful teacher and all the girls adore her. We hope she will be with for years to come."

"Oh, that's lovely to hear. I'm sure Penelope will be thrilled to hear that. I must take my leave, Ms. Baddeley-Stone, but my wife and I will keep your school in mind." And with that, he swooped from the room.

Sherlock tossed the wig and the cane into the nearest bin and laughed all the way back to Baker Street, where he found his mother waiting for him in John's chair.

"Mum."

"Sherlock, I can explain."

"I'm not the one you have to apologize to. I'm not sure how Vi will take your interference after all these years. I just wanted to confirm my suspicions before I told her who was behind everything. I know why you did it, and I appreciate your misguided efforts to bring us together. I'm not sure how Vi will take it. She was honestly terrified and more than annoyed yesterday when she came here. Give me some time to tell her-"

"Tell me what, 'Lock?" Violet had asked Ms. Baddeley-Stone for a morning break to see what her brother had discovered, and had followed him back to Baker Street.

"Mum? Why, why would you do this?" Violet asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Vi, please, hear her out, for me, please?" Sherlock took her hand gently and led her to his chair. "You know how a Holmes brain works, I know mum married into the family, but I think she's more Holmes than the two of us put together."

Violet crossed her arms and glared at the woman she hadn't laid eyes on in fifteen years. "I'm listening."

Elizabeth Holmes cleared her throat and looked at the two children she thought she had lost forever, both waiting for her to defend her actions.

"It started when Sherlock appeared to have died, Myc told me the truth shortly after you left London, Sherlock. I couldn't tell you, Violet. I'm so sorry."

Violet covered her face with one hand, while holding tightly on to Sherlock's arm, "Go on, mum, please, don't leave out any of the gory details."

"I knew once his death was all over the papers there was every chance you would disappear again, this time for good, so I got Nana's piano that I had been saving for you out of storage and had it delivered. I thought that if you had your music, you might make it through, even if Sherlock hadn't made it back safely. Once he was back, I talked to Myc and I knew that Sherlock needed you as much as you needed him, Violet. I couldn't let you waste any more time. So, I-"

"Stop, mum," whispered Sherlock. "Vi-please let it be enough that we are part of each other's lives again?"

" 'Lock? Is it over? Is the job truly mine or was that part of the game, mum? Do I have to worry about being followed anymore? Is Annie safe? I need to know, mum."

"It's over, Violet, I promise, darling girl. The woman who followed you works on the estate in the gardens, she accepted the job to follow you because she hadn't ever been to London. The two of you used to play together, until you went to school when you were 10. I asked her to stop after she chased you yesterday."

"Ms. Baddeley-Stone adores you, Vi, she thinks the world of you, and wants you to stay. Annie has never been in any danger, has she, mum?" Sherlock glared at his mother, trying to get them through this in one piece.

Elizabeth Holmes shakes her head, "No, Violet, I would never let anything happen to her, please believe me."

Violet finally took a deep breath and took her hand from her face, but still held tight to her brother's arm. "Mum, I swear, if you EVER do anything like this again, I will be gone. You will NEVER see me again. Do you understand?"

Violet and Sherlock stared down their mother, as only two Holmes siblings can do. "Muuum???"

"Alright, I promise. I just wanted-"

"Muuum!" Sherlock growled at her. "Stop!"

"Yes, dear, but don't you think you should let John know you don't need the bikes any longer?" Elizabeth Holmes suggested primly, while she pulled a compact from her purse and dusted her nose.

"Muuuu-yeah, you're correct. I'll send him a text. Then I'll make us all some tea. Vi, please stay?"

Violet looks at her brother and realizes he is asking for peace. He has already forgiven her for abandoning him so many years ago, she knows he needs her to let this go and begin again. She takes his hand and squeezes it as they did when they were kids, letting him know she was ok. He takes a deep breath and winks at her as he hurriedly dashes off a text to John:

"All is well, no need for bikes. If you want to have tea with my mum, come home ASAP."


	49. Chapter 49

Violet and Annie were married at the Registry Office two weeks after the case ended, as they had planned, but after much discussion and mediating by Sherlock, they agreed they would also have a family wedding at the Holmes estate in the spring. 

Sherlock and John stood as witnesses to the brief ceremony, and as Violet said "I will," she looked across at her brother who was trying to cover his emotions with a cough and grinned.

"You old softie, 'Lock," she whispered to him as she threw her arms around him.

"I'm coming down with a cold," he grumbled, though she could feel the happiness in his voice.

Annie shook his hand, "Thank you, Sherlock, for being here today, you and John, it means everything to us."

"You are family, now, Annie," as he embraced her gently, "I suppose I should apologize in advance for whatever you will have to put up with for the next 40+ years."

"I have made reservations for us at Angelo's, I hope that's alright, Vi?"  
"Perfect, 'Lock. I'm starving."

Annie and John walked ahead as Violet wrapped her arm through Sherlock's and leaned against him. "I guess I should be grateful to Mum for her plotting, to have you here today. I know she wanted us to wait to have a formal do, but I didn't want to waste any more time; and she will get her wedding in April. I know it took a lot to convince her to let us have today, so thank you."

"I know what she did was wrong, Vi. I really believe she did it with the best of intentions, just went about it badly. She knows you need time, but she missed you. When you left you broke both of our hearts, even though we understood, it still hurt. But, let's not do this today, hmm?  
Let's eat way too much lasagne and garlic bread and tiramisu, and celebrate you and Annie, yeah?

"I wish..."

"Vi, I'm as happy as I am ever going to be, happier than I deserve to be-"

" 'Lock-"

"No, it's true, Vi, I never expected to have you in my life again; John and I have a relationship that defies convention, but it's true and real. I have my work, and people who honestly care for me. It is so much more than what I ever thought I would have-"

Violet stops him and looks into his eyes, she puts her hands on his face and kisses his nose. "You are loved, 'Lock. You finally understand that, don't you?"

He nods and grins at her, "Yes, Vi - I do. Now can we go eat? I'm starving!"

She laughs and yells at John and Annie, almost at the doorway to Angelo's. "Annie, wait! I'm going to carry you over the threshold, remember?"


	50. Chapter 50

Life at 221B changed for the better now that Violet and Annie became regular visitors. Sherlock seemed to breathe easier now that his sister was back in his life. He began playing his violin more, creating new music when he wasn't working cases or recreating his ash experiments. His diet improved as Annie was an excellent cook, and we had brunch every Sunday at our flat. Violet would come for lunch during the week, and they would argue over the latest news stories, or try to outdo the other on the crossword puzzle. They were playing Cluedo by their own Holmesian rules when there was a loud bang on our door.

I rose to answer it when Ms. Baddeley-Stone fell into the flat. 

"Mr. Holmes! I need your assistance, please-"  
Before I could catch her, she slid to the floor.  
"Sherlock, water! Violet, help me move her to the couch." We managed to carry her to the couch, propping her up on pillows. Sherlock placed a tumbler of brandy on the coffee table, as he sat and waited for her to recover.

"Ms. Baddeley-Stone?" He spoke to her gently, not wanting to frighten her.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make a nuisance of myself. But, I need your help. One of our girls has disappeared, and I wasn't sure where to go. When I discovered that you were Ms. Smith's brother, I felt you were the person we needed to help clear this up with as little publicity as possible."

Violet spoke up, "Who has disappeared, Helen?"

"Oh, Violet! You are here, thank goodness! It's Daphne- yes, I know, but, it's different this time. Her room was turned upside down, like someone was looking for something, but she had been doing so much better, lately."

"I know she has, damn. Sherlock, this was the girl I was telling you about, the one who reminded me so much of you? She has left before without permission, but always left a note or left a message on one of her friend's phones. She and I have been working after school on a complex piece. I just saw her yesterday, and seemed fine."

"Yes, I spoke to her as well, and nothing seemed amiss. But, she didn't show up for her morning class, and when I went to look for her in her room, I found everything pulled out of drawers, papers strewn everywhere...oh Violet! What are we going to do?"

"Helen, breathe, you need to calm down. I know how ugly this could get, but if anyone can find her, my brother can. Sherlock, Daphne is-"

"-the daughter of the finest violinist I've ever heard." He had been searching online as Ms. Baddeley-Stone was telling her story. "She is the fourth of her family to attend your school, and much is expected of her, yes? Probably explains her recent disappearances, hmm." He glanced at his sister who couldn't meet his eyes.

"Ms. Baddeley-"

"Helen, please call me Helen, Mr. Holmes."

"Helen, please return to your school in case there is news, I will be there shortly to look at her room and talk to her friends. I will be as discreet as humanly possible. I do understand the difficulties you face."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes, I'm so grateful-"

He waved his hand, "not at all. I hope we can resolve this satisfactorily in the briefest time possible."

I walked her downstairs and helped her into a cab. When I returned, Sherlock and Violet were in the midst of a rare argument.

"Vi-you have to tell me, otherwise, I can't help!"

"'Lock, I gave her my word. I can't tell you, I'm sorry!"

"I have to dress, then go to the school. I hope you will reconsider, Vi, she may be in real danger and your promise may make it impossible for me to find her."

He left the room and Violet threw herself on the couch.

"John, he will find her, won't he?"

"I hope so, Violet, he will do his best, but if you know something, it would be best if you told him."

"I just can't, John. I made her a promise, and it can't possibly have anything to do with her missing. I just can't believe-"

At that, Sherlock reentered the room. "John? Coming? Vi, please return to school and help calm everyone down, I don't want this getting out to the press, it would make everything much worse very quickly if this makes it to the tabloids."

Violet nodded and tried to speak, "'Lock-"

He shook his head, "Vi, I understand how important your word is, I won't ask you to break your promise to her, but if you can reach out to your contacts, I'd be grateful. I may need to ask Myc for help, unfortunately, to see if there is footage of her leaving with anyone."

He walked over to her and kissed her nose. "We are fine, Vi. Nothing you can possibly do will make me walk away, do you understand me? I trust you. OK?"

She nodded again, and tried to smile. "I'm sorry, 'Lock-"

"Vi-come on, we have a case to solve, let's go! John!" He threw on his coat and scarf and flew down the stairs, and had hailed a cab before Violet and I had even managed to grab our coats.


	51. Chapter 51

They sat in the cab quietly. Violet was staring out the window, trying to calm herself down; Sherlock was already researching possible kidnappers, already lost in the case. John watched both of them hoping they would all survive this case intact.

The cab pulled up to the school, luckily there seemed to be no press hanging around the doors. Sherlock looked around, trying to locate cameras that could help determine how and when Daphne Fleetwood left the school. He sighed as he realized there were no cameras at this entrance. 

"Damn," he muttered aloud.

"What, 'Lock?" Violet finally emerged from her funk, and could tell something was up.

"No cameras out here, unless there are some in the back or near the windows, even Big Brother can't offer much assistance."

" 'Lock-"

"Vi, please, just help Helen calm down. When her mother is notified, I have the feeling she will need some support."

At that moment, a Jaguar pulled up in front of the school and a woman in her forties, tall, red haired, with green flashing eyes jumped out.

"Ms. Smith? Ah, so you have brought in the biggest gun, have you? Mr. Holmes, I am-"

"Victoria Fleetwood, I know you from your album covers." Sherlock bowed in her direction. "Perhaps we can go inside before the press is notified that the two of us were spotted together outside your daughter's school?"

She nodded, and took a deep breath as she entered the school. As soon as they gathered in Ms. Baddeley-Stone's office, Ms. Fleetwood looked at the head mistress and Violet across the desk from her. "I do not blame the school, ladies. In fact, I'm quite sure this is all my fault."


	52. Chapter 52

"It's my fault she's gone," the violinist sighed.

Sherlock waited for her to continue; he watched as she dropped into the chair that John offered to her.

"It's a long story, I'm afraid."

"Aren't they always," Sherlock muttered to himself. Aloud, he murmured, "Do you have any idea who she is with, we don't need her history unless you think it will help find her."

"She may be with her sister, but she doesn't know she's her sister, half sister, I should say."

Violet turned even paler than her normal complexion. "Oh god-"

"Vi-what?" Sherlock looked at her, then knelt in front of her.

"Daphne said she had been chatting with her aunt...Oh, damn..."

"Is her laptop here?" Ms. Fleetwood asked.

"I think it's time we looked at her room," Sherlock got up and took his sister's hand. "Vi-we will find her."

She nodded and allowed him to help her from the chair. "She's brilliant, 'Lock, but so lonely. I hope-"

"We will find her, I promise."


	53. Chapter 53

I stared at him, and shook my head. He never promised that a case would end well, to anyone. But, Violet nodded and allowed him to help her out of her chair.

"Let's go see her room, perhaps there is something that will tell us where she is, yeah?"

"Right."

Helen stayed in the office with Ms. Fleetwood while Sherlock, Violet and I went to search Daphne's room. 

"She wasn't kidding," sighed Violet. "Daphne is an unusually neat twelve year old. Very organized, says she can't think if things are out of place."

"Do you know when she began having contact with the person Ms. Fleetwood believes is her half-sister?"

"About a month ago. She just arrived this term and was having a hard time settling in, she is used to traveling with her mother, but I think she was getting a bit much for her mother to deal with. She's a brilliant musician, but is bored easily and likes to test boundaries, seems to be a hobby of hers..."

"No wonder she reminds you of Sherlock," I smirk.

"Yeah, a bit," she manages to smile as she picks up some music that had fallen from the desk. "I think that's why I connected so well with her."

"Ah-ha!" Sherlock pulled out a laptop from a drawer. "Smart girl, she must have realized something wasn't quite right, she buried her laptop under her clothes so it wouldn't be taken.  
Give me a minute, I'll see if I can get past her password."

"Try Norman_Neruda, 'Lock. We were chatting about female violinists lately, and..."

"Brilliant, Vi! Her Facebook page is open, let's see if she's left us any hints, shall we?"

"She thought it was her aunt she was chatting with," Violet explained. "Daphne said that her mum had a much younger sister and that her aunt didn't want her to tell anyone because she and Victoria didn't get along...Oh 'Lock."

"Vi-I think I found the latest messages, come look!"

Violet stopped and looked at the screen. "Yes, I think I know where she has been taken, 'Lock. It is a dance club, I used to-let me text someone I know that still works there, they may be able to tell if they are still there, or where they may have gone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wilma Norman-Neruda was known as the 'female Paganini' (1838-1911). Sherlock Holmes attends one of her concerts in A Study in Scarlet. I have the idea that Sherlock and Vi share a love of arcane musical history, and would both know of Norman-Neruda.


	54. Chapter 54

John notices Sherlock tense up as they enter a hole-in-the-wall bar with a tiny 'dance' space. Violet looks at Sherlock as if she is trying to apologize.

A raven-haired teen is wiping the tables. "Yeah? What's up, long time no see, Vivi-"

"Tom, Kat's expecting me, can you get her?"

"Yo! Kat, Vivi's here with 'Lock and some military type guy. Want to see ya."

"Thank you so much, Tom, you've gotten taller if not smarter, hope you are keeping your nose clean-"

"Yeah, I remember back in the day-"

"Vivi! Lock! Long time no see. You're here about the child, Daphne, right? Missed 'em by an hour."

Kat looks over John and takes him for what he is in a glance, "so, 'Lock, found yerself a sweet-looking doctor, huh?"

"Lay off, Kat," growls Sherlock, "Do you know where they went?"

"Yeah, yeah, don't get yer knickers in a twist, Lock, I figured someone would be here sooner than later. Daph's a smart girl, but she's freakin' out right now. She figured out her Aunty ain't who she thought. Frankie's ok, s'long as she's sober and clean, but when she found out about her little sister, she flipped out. Seems mum tried to keep both of 'em secret. Family. Huh, Vivi?"

"Not now, Kat, got an address on Frankie?" sighed Violet.

"Yeah, yeah, give me a sec. Tom, get me my book, yeah?"

Tom comes out with a laptop, Kat bangs away at the keyboard for a minute and prints out an address. "Hope you can clean this up, Daph's a good kid, reminds me of a couple other kids I used to know."

"Thanks, Kat."

"No prob, Vivi, and congrats on the little woman, by the way."

Once they leave the bar, Sherlock takes a deep breath of fresh air. "Vi?"

"Sorry, sweetie, I knew you used to make your buys there, just didn't know-"

"Let's just find Daphne, yeah? I can't talk about this right now-"

John decides to let it be just between the two of them, it has nothing to do with him, or who Sherlock is now.

"Where to?" he somehow manages to ask.

Sherlock hails a cab, and once again, the three of them are lost in their own thoughts. As they pull up in front of a once charming block of flats, Sherlock shakes his head, "thought I'd left this behind..."John hears him mutter under his breath. Violet puts her hand on his arm. " 'Lock? Let me handle this, huh?"

He shakes his head. "No, Vi, we'll do this together. John, can you call Ms. Fleetwood, and let her know?" John nods and calls the school, all the while keeping an eye on his friend, wondering what is going on in his head.

Slowly, they make their way to the front door, not sure what they will find when they open it.


	55. Chapter 55

Sherlock is afraid to look at John on the ride over to the flat, "no...why now...I thought....damn...I thought I'd left this behind..." The block of flats is where Lestrade first 'met' him, a twenty-eight year old Cambridge-educated junkie, ready to check out.

Violet is watching him clinch his fists as they get closer to the old neighbourhood, they almost bumped into each other so many times..." 'Lock? Let me handle this, huh?"

"No, Vi, we'll do this together. John, can you call Ms. Fleetwood, and let her know?" He knows John won't ask, not yet. 

They pull up to the flat, and the cabbie waits as none of them are especially eager to hop out, "here ya go, mates."

Sherlock nods, pulls out a few quid and asks the cabbie if he could return in ten minutes. "No problem, got nuthin' better to do," he grins.

Violet steps out first, trying to forget the last time she was here. "No. I'm not the same-damn, just gotta get this over with." She strides up to the door, and knocks, hoping Kat hasn't let Frankie know they were coming.

Sherlock has somehow appeared next to her, as the door opens. "Ah, the Cavalry has arrived, Daph, time to go home." Frankie was in her late twenties he guessed, a rubbed out version of her mother, he read all the signs of living rough for most of her teens, only to be 'rescued' by Kat or someone like her. He knew, god, he knew too well.

"Frankie, your mother-"

"Ha! My mum, yeah, that's a hoot-"

"She just wants Daphne returned safely, the police are not involved-"

"You don't remember me, do you, Mr. Famous Detective?" Frankie half smiles, half glares at him.

Then he does. "Frankie? Oh, damn, sweetie. I meant- I didn't mean to..."

"No, you got lucky when you couldn't run that last time, when that copper found you almost dead, shiiiit, I thought you were dead, that's why I ran-"

"Frankie, please just let us take Daphne home? We can help-"

Frankie laughs,"Help, how? I don't have those lovely connections you do, "Mister, my brother is the British Government, no one can touch me...what a laugh!" But she opens the door wider, and they see Daphne on the couch, somehow asleep, wrapped in a blanket, apparently unhurt.  
"Just take her home,'Lock, huh? She was lonely, needed someone to talk to that understood. I just wanted to see what she looked like, wanted to meet the one Mum kept..."

"Frankie-please let us help you," Violet whispered.

"Ah. Vivi-yeah, she told me all about you, thinks you are the best thing since chocolate cake, she's lucky she has people-"

"Promise me, you'll at least go back to Kat's? She's not bad people, and she misses you-"

"You'll let me-?" Frankie eyes both of them suspiciously, unsure whether to trust them, trying to look around them for cops.

"Frankie, if you want us to let your mother know where you are-"

"HA! Nooooo-I don't think so. No, 'Lock, you got lucky, sweetie, you have family now. Me? People like Kat and Tommy are my family. I'm glad you made it, love, you were always meant for better things, glad that crazy brain of yours made it through." She plants a kiss on each cheek, then turns and walks towards the couch.

"Daph, wake up, darlin', Ms. Violet has come to take you back to school." Daphne rubs her eyes and sees them at the door. "Frankie didn't do anything, Ms. Violet, I just wanted to know someone who knew my mum. I'm fine, really."

Violet nods her head, "I know, Daphne, we'll get you back to school, we will work it out, yeah?"

Daphne looks at her sister, "If you ever want-"

"You're a sweet kid, Daph, but you're better off forgetting that I exist, truly. Go on, time to go, 'Kay?"

Daphne stands up, reaches out and holds her in a hug. Frankie freezes up. "Ah, c'mon now, don't do this, kiddo. Go on-"

Violet takes Daphne's hand and leads her to the cab, where John is waiting. Sherlock is lost in his memories, broken as they are, then snaps back to reality. Frankie lays a gentle hand on his face, "Something happened to you, I can tell, sweetie, your eyes, they aren't the same, the drugs could never completely kill that sparkle. You're not ok, are you, 'Lock?" He shakes his head at her.

"No," he whispers. "I'm trying so hard, Frankie, it would be so easy-"

"Uh-uh, no you don't. You have your sister, and that doctor of yours. Don't you dare. I don't want to see you again, you won't find me here, if you come looking...no. I've got too much self-preservation for that. You were always the lucky one, 'Lock." She goes up on tiptoe to kiss his forehead. "Go home, love, I'll be fine. Thank you for taking her home, she's a good kid, got a brain like yours, don't let her waste it."

"I won't. You know where to find me if you change your mind," he says softly, and after he kisses the top of her head, he turns and walks away without looking back.


	56. Chapter 56

Daphne is returned to school, no questions asked. Her mother looks at Sherlock and Violet as they turn to leave, and makes a decision. "I was young, unmarried, on the edge of what became a brilliant career...I don't expect you to understand, and it's not really any of your business. But, if it makes any difference, some days I do wish that I'd had another option. Giving her up should have broken my heart, but I guess I'm not built that way. I'd like to pay you for your time, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock has recovered a bit of his balance and sees her offer for what it is. "No, Ms. Fleetwood. You don't have to worry, Frankie wants nothing from you, you won't hear from her, or me or my sister, ever again. I suggest you take care of your other child, she is sensitive and bright, but is capable of making the same choices as her sister. Excuse me, please."

Violet follows him outside where John has been waiting. " 'Lock?"

"Vi-I need to take a walk, just go home. I'll meet you there in a bit, alright?" He kisses her nose, gives her a slight grin and turns to walk towards the park.

Violet nods. "John? Please-"

John shakes his head. "Violet, your past is your business, he will be fine, I'm not going anywhere, understand?" He kisses her and follows Sherlock down the street.

John finds him on the bench near the duck pond, face in his hands, trying to calm his breathing.

"Sherlock?" He sits down on the bench, close enough to touch him, but waits.

Sherlock jumps from the bench, not wanting to see his friend's face. "John-I never wanted you to know. I completely understand if you-I was a mess after Vi left, though I still managed to get a couple of degrees, somehow. I barely remember those years...eventually I-"

"No. You don't owe me anything, I knew you had a past you weren't especially proud of, we all have pasts. Do you know how lucky I am that Greg found you?"

Sherlock turns around and opens his mouth only to shut it again.

"You are even more remarkable than I thought, Sherlock. You could have ended up like Frankie, or worse, but for some reason, you chose another way, you made a life for yourself. Somehow you got through it, and had something in you strong enough to take me on, even though you knew. You knew from one look what I was, and yet you took a chance on me."

"John-"

"Go see Vi, yeah? She needs to know you are ok, I'm sure she is dealing with her own memories as well, but she's mostly terrified she will lose you. I'm going to go home, have a beer and take a nap, then we'll go try that Thai place that you've wanted to go to?"

Sherlock nods, still trying to understand how he ended up with someone like John in his life, who seems to forgive everything, asking for so little from him in return. 

"Go on. I'll be at the flat, I promise."


	57. Chapter 57

Violet is banging away at the piano when Sherlock lets himself in. He watches her, and tries to remember something that he should know. Something he's missing...

"Oh. Vi. You were there that night. I had asked Frankie to help me look for you, and she had found you, for me. When she brought you to see me, I had just taken a-"

"...bad hit. We found you, you were still barely conscious, Frankie freaked and ran, but she knew of Lestrade, and she called him, just in case he could get to you in time. I didn't think you ever knew that I'd been there. I went to hospital with you, they let me ride with you, I held your hand all the way there. I stayed until I knew you would be-"

"...fine?"

"I was still a mess, 'Lock, I was a couple years from getting clean, and I thought, I thought that almost dying would scare you enough to stop. I hadn't hit rock bottom yet, I couldn't help you-I'm so sorry, 'Lock. I did what I thought was best for you, for both of us."

"Vi-stop playing, and look at me."

"I can't."

"Please? I need you to look at me. You and Frankie saved me that night. I can only repay her by letting her go, but you, I need your forgiveness. I can't even imagine what it was like-"

" 'Lock, no. I knew something like this might happen if you were back in my life, we are both finally as happy as we are capable of ever being, and then- I never wanted you to know, or have to go back there. I'm so sorry if I've messed things up between you and John. I knew I should've just stayed away, but Annie kept pushing when I finally told her about you. She kept telling me you needed me, that I needed you. That you should have a choice, that I was clean and sober, that I could have a relationship with you again, a real relationship this time...but she was wrong and I've just hurt you more-"

"Vi-stop playing and turn around. I still need you, more than you could ever know. John and I are fine. You can't do anything that would make him leave. In his own way, he loves me, like a brother, I guess, I've never really understood until now, but I'm his family. He didn't give up on me when I was gone for two years, we just don't do that well apart, maybe it's a bit co-dependent or something, but we need each other. You are my family, both you and Annie. Since I've been back I've realized I need people in my life that honestly love me, and I know you do. Please, just turn around, damnit."

"I don't deserve-"

"Vi, sweetie, if we all got what we deserved, you don't want to know where I'd be right now. Please tell me we are ok?"

Finally, she got up from the piano, closed the lid and turned around. He had a flash of memory of a much younger Violet with the same tears running down her face. "Oh, Vi, I'm so sorry."

"Me too, 'Lock. Me too."


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couldn't help myself from cribbing the harpoon bit from Hounds. ;)

John watches over Sherlock and Violet the next few weeks; each of them quietly maneuvering around the other, tiny gestures, cautious attempts of, "remember when..." then backing away, trying to give space, afraid to break something that was slowly rebuilding.

Annie breathes a sigh of relief as John poured her a cup of tea. "I wish Vi would throw something or yell, anything-it's like she has gone into hibernation. I think she's afraid she will hurt him again and it will be too much."

John nods, "I know. He sometimes seems like he's in a trance, stuck in some other place or time, and it takes a moment to refocus. I think he's remembering more, his nightmares are different now-"

At that moment, Sherlocks burst through the door, wielding a harpoon, covered head to toe in what appears to be animal blood.

"Tedious!"

John and Annie turn at his entrance; John blinks and manages to stifle a snort, "Cabs wouldn't take you?"

"You know how I hate public transport, John! The people!"

Annie opens her mouth in alarm, then readjusts, remembering where she is, "Interesting case, 'Lock?"

"Mmmm, yes, had to see how hard it was to murder a large man with an early 20th century harpoon, luckily the butcher I use owed me a favour-"

He suddenly realizes that he is speaking to Annie and begins to apologize profusely, much to Annie's amusement. "No, it's fine, 'Lock, Vi has told me what the two of you would get up to when you were kids, I'm sure this is par for the course."

At the mention of his sister's name, Sherlock starts and reboots, "Vi still away at that conference?" 

Annie nods, "She'll be back tonight, maybe dinner tomorrow once she's over her jet lag?"

"She let me look over the paper she presented, brilliant work," Sherlock muses to himself, then excuses himself to get cleaned up.

"She was really nervous to let him see it, afraid she missed something, or made some glaring error, but I saw her face when he looked up at her and grinned; she looked like she won a BAFTA."

"I know, he bounced a theory about a case off her last week, and when he finished expounding, she went over to him, and touched his face and said, 'God- you are amazing, 'Lock.' I swear, he almost purred. But he cleared his throat and went back to fiddling on his microscope, and she backed off."

"They just need time, John, Violet is afraid he wants to talk about the past, and she doesn't want to, she doesn't know if she has the answers he wants-"

John shakes his head, "I think he wants to move on, he's just afraid of being blindsided again, he wants to trust her, it's just he doesn't trust his own memories right now, and it scares him that he's missing something-"

Annie nods,"I just feel so helpless watching them tiptoe around each other, Violet always talked about how well they knew each other, how they didn't have to talk and they just knew-"

"Problem is, they need to actually sit and really talk to each other, they are different people than from when they were kids. Sherlock is still recovering from his time away, I know she could help but-"

"They will get there, John, we just have to let them do it at their own pace. They are so similar, always thinking five steps ahead of 'average' people."

John laughs for the first time in weeks, "I know, for better or worse, neither of them are average, which makes life-"

"Interesting?" Annie snorts, and they both lose it, as Sherlock walks back in the room.

"What are you two on about?"

The doorbell that John recently replaced, again, sounds one long buzz, and Sherlock's eyes glitter, "A client!"


	59. Chapter 59

She was well dressed, on the younger side of forty, well-preserved in a way that screamed aristocratic money at work. "Mr. Holmes, I believe my husband is being blackmailed-"

Sherlock sat in his chair watching as she fiddled with her purse, "What makes you think that, Mrs. 'Jones'? " He asked with a slight smirk.

"I know. I can't give you my real name, for that, I apologize. He's a minister, in a position of power, our expenses are regularly scrutinized, for any discrepancies, but our private resources are being slowly depleted. His behaviour is becoming erratic, he jumps whenever the post arrives, I could go on-"

"What do you think I could possibly do, Lady Blackwood-"

"Alright, yes. I knew it was ridiculous to try to hide my identity. I was given your name by Victoria Fleet-"

"I'm sorry, I cannot help you. Good day, Madam."

On that note, he walked over to his violin case, removed the instrument and began playing a piece I knew was over ten minutes long. He had summarily dismissed her from his presence without another word.

"Lady Blackwood, he is very busy at the moment, I hope your situation clears up soon, perhaps try contacting the police?"

"I have no proof, Dr. Watson, just a feeling, and they can't do anything based on a feeling. I was hoping-"

"I am sorry, I will walk you down."

When I return, Sherlock has stopped playing, the bow dangling from his fingers. "This is the third case in as many weeks. Lady Blackwood is the most important of the three to come to me, but all are well-known figures who obviously have skeletons they wish to remain buried. I believe I know whom we are dealing with John."

"Who is it?"

"Charles Augustus Milverton. I was getting close to nailing him before I left, but he slipped through my fingers. He's a right bastard, and I would like nothing more than to rid society of him...I just have to find a way-"

 

I had never seen him so intent on anyone before, not even when he was playing games with Moriarty, he was a man possessed for the next week and a half, disappearing, then reappearing, at irregular intervals.

"Is 'Lock alright," asked Violet one evening. She had been quieter than usual, her fingering across the keyboard a bit uncertain and she banged the lid down in a huff.

"A case," I mutter, not looking up from my laptop.

"Who, John? Who is he going after?"

"Vi?" I hear the panic in her voice, and I look at her for the first time and realize how truly worried she is about her brother.

"Milverton. Charles August-"

"Oh. No. He can't- John, you have to stop him-please!"

"Violet, you know how hard it is to stop him-" I try a lighter tone, hoping it will prevent the panic attack I sense is on its way.

"John-you don't understand-I, uhm, have to go, can you tell Annie I'm going out for milk?"

"Vi-whatever it is, you can tell him, you know that-"

She shakes her head. "I have to go out, John-please let Annie know?"

I nod, and watch her tremble as she pulls her coat on.

"I promise, I'll be back, John. Trust me?"

I nod again, and hope I'm doing the right thing by letting her go.


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we have the return of "Big Brother"....

"Violet-always a pleasure to-"

"Cut the crap, Myc-you know he's going after Milverton, what are you doing about it?"

"Doing? Nothing, my dear, I believe this will be highly entertaining."

"Enter-? God-you are more of an arse than I thought when I was growing up-I can't believe this. You of all people-nevermind. I'll take care of it myself-"

"Violet. Listen to me. Sherlock is a big boy now, he has done things-let's just say he is more than capable of dealing with Milverton. Stay out of it. He already knows, my dear."

"What? He knows? Knows what exactly?"

"Everything."

"Every-t-h-i-n-g? Wha-? How?"

"And yet, he still chooses to associate with you, he chooses to be your brother in spite of everything that has gone before. So, please, Vi-for his sake, stay OUT of it?"

"Myc-"

"Vi, go home to Annie, let it go, let him do this for you."

"I'm so scared, Myc."

"Vi-he wants to, he came to see me yesterday. He wants to help you, he wants to let go of the past as much, maybe even more so than you do."

She breathes for the first time since John told her, nods a farewell to her brother and goes home.


	61. Chapter 61

Less than two hours later, it was over.

 

After her less than comforting chat with Mycroft, Violet returned to the flat, to find John pacing, trying to get Lestrade to listen:

"Greg, I no have fucking idea where the arsehole is right at this minute, you know how he-"

"Yes, yes- I will let you know if I hear from him- Oh, Vi's back, at least. Yeah, let me know if you see him? Good."

"You alright, Vi?"

Vi nods and shakes her head, as she sinks onto the couch. "If anything happens to him-"

John sighs, "Vi- you know he would do anything to keep you safe, and you know how he gets when he's on a mission."

"What happened to him when he was away, John? I know a bit, but, he won't really let me help him."

"Vi- all I do know is that he was tortured and I believe he was sexually assaulted, he shows the signs of PTSD for that specifically-"

"Oh, John. No-"

"He won't tell me either, I just know from what he screams in his nightmares. He's been back for months, but if he isn't completely knackered, he has nightmares worse than mine. Thing is, he doesn't remember, and if he wakes up and doesn't understand why I'm there, I have to tell him why. I think he feels if he can take care of Milverton, it will help him fix what's broken-you know what I -"

They were interrupted by a bang at the door, Violet answered it, to find a disheveled and shaking Frankie at the door.

"Vivi-where's 'Lock?"

"Frankie-what do you mean-?"

"It's my mum, she is being blackmailed by Milverton, and she showed up at Kat's looking for me, she thought I sold her out, but I didn't - I would never - no matter how she treated me, she's still my mum. I think she's drunk or high or something, she isn't right. I'm afraid she is going to do something-"

"C'mon, Frankie- it's time to get this settled-"

"Vi-" John started.

"John either stay here with Annie-"

"She went out a bit after you did-"

"Oh, damn! What the-? What did she say, John?"

"She had opened the post, and told me she needed to go deal with- oh, crap, Vi-" he looked in his jacket and realized his gun was gone. "Vi-my gun-"

"Alright, I know where Milverton lives. Frankie, calm down and focus, we can do this. John, how is Sherlock right now- is he on the edge, or is he-"

"...a bit more sociopathic than usual."

"Good. John- I have one of our father's old Brownings above the stove, with ammo next to it, grab it. Annie is a good shot, especially if she is pissed off-god-I hope-never mind. Let's go."

They piled into the first cab that pulled up in front of the flat, and they all took a deep, worried breath.

"Charles Augustus Milverton is my father," whispered Frankie.


	62. Chapter 62

"Ms. Fleetwood, why are you here?!" hissed an extremely sociopathic consulting detective, as they both had ended up hiding in Milverton's plush velvet drapes in his office.

"I might ask you the same thing," snapped the violinist, her hand holding the gun shaking visibly.

"Victoria, give me the gun before you shoot yourself in the hand, much as I dislike you, I do enjoy listening to you play."

"If I had time, I would slap you for your insolence, Mr. Holmes."

"I do know why you are here-"

"How could you?"

"I still have friends in low places, Kat phoned to tell me that you had rudely barged into her establishment a short time ago, demanding that she tell you where Frankie was currently residing?"

"That little bitch-"

"She did not know who her father was until you told her yourself this evening, she could not have sold you out, as you claimed. I have ascertained that it was in fact one of your lovely 'assistants' who travel with you that you had recently terminated that 'spilled' it."

"Damn, I knew I should've waited til the next season to can that jerk. I actually liked him."

If Ms. Fleetwood could have seen Sherlock at the moment, she would see the detective roll his eyes as he sighed quietly.

"We need-"

At that moment, there was another presence in the room. Sherlock could smell Annie's French Lavender soap from where he stood. "Damn," he swore softly.

Annie crept quietly to Milverton's desk, with a penlight, searching for his laptop, or something she could use against him, when the office door opened again and the man himself appeared. 

"Ah, I see you received my wedding gift this evening, my dear?"

Annie looked up, and in a flash, John's gun appeared in her hand, safety off, ready to fire.

"Mr. Milverton," spoke a quietly aristocratic voice. "I do believe you and I have business to discuss. I suggest we let these young people leave the way they came in."

"As you wish, my dear."


	63. Chapter 63

"Charles Augustus Milverton, philanthropist and collector, dead at 65, of apparent self-inflected gunshot, details page 10."

 

Mycroft put his feet up on his desk and giggled to himself. "How the mighty fell last night, only makes page 10...how utterly perfect."

 

Daphne and Frankie sat quietly together feeding the ducks, and shared a bag of peanuts. "Frankie, I'm sorry."  
"What for, kiddo?"  
"I just wish you'd had an easier life."  
"I don't think your life has been a cakewalk either, has it, Daph?"  
Daphne shook her head and leaned against her sister.  
"Don't worry, kiddo, I ain't goin' anywhere."

Their mother was on another international flight, with no destination in mind. She celebrated her escape from London with one more G & T and wondered what city was next on her agenda. She shrugged, finished her drink and settled in for a nap.

 

Annie and Violet, recovering from the events of the previous evening, walked along the Embankment. 

"I would have. I wanted to. I don't think I could've stopped myself last night, Violet. I needed to see him dead. For what he did to you, what he made you do, what he took from you."

"I was a disaster then, Annie, I would do anything for a hit, as you saw. I hope you can forgive me for the person I was. I have tried to make peace with her, I wouldn't be where I am now, if I hadn't lived her life." 

The November winds picked up, and they held onto each other a little tighter, as they moved on together, a little stronger than yesterday.

 

At Baker Street, Sherlock was in the midst of a 12 hour 'nap' next to John on the couch, while John kept a hand in his flatmate's curls, as he was trying to determine how he could write up this case, without it sounding like complete farce. Soon, he put on one of those 'ludicrously unrealistic crime shows' that he could only bear to watch when the consulting detective was fast asleep, or lost in his Mind Palace. Even so, his exhausted friend muttered, "it was the plumber..."

 

At the Milverton crime scene, Lestrade examined the empty safe, considered the lack of a computer of any kind, noted the 'missing' security footage, and reflected upon the absence of regret demonstrated by Milverton's household staff. He sniffed the air, noting a multitude of slightly feminine scents, but did not have Sherlock's gift for determining perfumes, so gave up. It had been a long night, and though something didn't feel quite right, he rubbed his face, yawned and signed off on the suicide.

 

And a certain lady of indeterminable age, but unquestioned grace and courage opened her morning paper and smiled to herself, as she sipped her tea.


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a missing scene

" 'Lock?" Vi almost fell out of the cab as she saw him walk out of Milverton's front door. She scrambled to her feet and stood in front of her brother. "What did you-"

"Nothing, Vi, I promise. I'm sorry I scared you. I started remembering, and I realized what had happened to you, I needed to fix it for you-"

"I'm so sorry, 'Lock-" she stopped as she saw Victoria Fleetwood stumble out the door, and following slowly behind, Annie, her Annie, John's gun in her hand, still, but starting to quiver.

"Ann-"

"No, Vi-"

A muffled shot was heard from the open door, they all turned to look and saw a figure covered in a dark hoodie walk calmly down the stairs.

"Mr. Holmes, I suggest you remove yourself and your circus back to Baker Street, all records of Mr. Milverton's are now permanently unavailable-"

Sherlock started as he recognized the voice, but bowed in her direction, "Let's go ladies, we'll talk later, Vi, I promise."


	65. Chapter 65

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the shortish chapter, 6 month old is winning tonight ;)

Frankie had vanished after they arrived at Milverton's, she had no desire to run into her mother again that night, but she changed her mind about staying out of her sister's life. She seemed a decent kid, and their mother wasn't doing her any favours by abandoning her, even in a posh school.

Victoria Fleetwood managed to land a punch before John could stop her, and in his exhausted state Sherlock crumpled to the sidewalk. Violet threw her in a cab, directed the cabbie to take her to Heathrow and slammed the door shut.

Violet slowly approached her wife and gently removed the gun from her hand. "Let it go, sweetie, we're ok, everyone is fine. Let's go home." Annie nodded and allowed Violet to lead her to the cab. Violet looked at Sherlock and blew him a kiss as she fell into the cab. He caught it, and stuffed it in his pocket, as they did as kids. 

"Sherlock," John whispered.  
"It's all over, John. I'm sorry, I had to fix-"  
"Come on, let's get you home."

 

Of course, Annie and Violet fought, then kissed and made up, then spent the next twelve hours learning and relearning each other, forgiving and realizing that they could forget and move on.

 

When they returned to Baker Street, John all but carried his half-conscious friend up the stairs, too close to reminding him of when he had returned from the dead. He undressed him, tucked him into bed, then grabbed a book and laid in bed next to his snoring flatmate. He read one of Sherlock's favourites, Hansel and Gretel, before sliding into sleep himself.


	66. Chapter 66

Violet and Sherlock were watching/correcting a documentary on Johann Sebastian Bach when Lestrade pounded up the stairs a few days after the conclusion of the Milverton case. 

"Imbeciles!" shouted Sherlock as he turned the telly off with a vengeance. "Oh, Lestrade, wondered when you'd pop up again."

Greg looked at Sherlock, then at Violet and shook his head. "Yeah, we have a crazy case of someone stealing plaster busts of Maggie Thatcher, not usually my division, but someone was killed in one of the robberies yesterday, so it got dumped in my lap-"

"Sister, Lestrade, she's my half sister. Violet, this is Greg Lestrade, you may have a vague recollection, but never been formally introduced?"

"Uhm, yeah, hey, there, Greg. We bumped into each other once in a while-"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Nevermind, dinner tonight, Vi?"

"Eightish?" She laughed as she kissed his nose, "Maybe I'll even get that cake tonight?" She shook hands with Lestrade and flew down the stairs.

"Since when do you have a sister?" Lestrade asked. 

"Ever since she was born three years after my arrival." sighed Sherlock. "Maggie Thatcher?"

"Yeah, souvenir shops are being broken into all over London, but the only things that seem to be touched are busts of the Iron Lady, and it appears that they are broken at the scene and dumped there. Until yesterday, they were just odd little burglaries, but a shop owner put up a fight and ended up dead. Feel like taking a look?"

"Sounds like a nice little puzzle, just send me the details and I'll be there in a bit. Just curious, did you catch the Milverton shooting?"

"Yeah, I did, some bells went off, but his fingerprints were on the trigger, angle was right and everything seemed to fit with suicide-"

"Buuuuut?"

"But, nothing, I know he was a criminal with money and good lawyers, so he got away with murder, or whatever else he was playing at. Wasn't worth my time. See you in half an hour?"


	67. Chapter 67

"Any known manias concerning the late, great Maggie Thatcher?" - SH  
"Psychiatry isn't really my thing, but nothing leaps to mind. Case? - JW  
"Someone's smashing plaster busts of Maggie all over town. -SH  
"Odd, but why you?" - JW  
"Because it's odd and the latest shopkeeper was killed."- SH  
"Lestrade?" - JW  
"Yup. Join me?" - SH  
"Send me location, be there soon" - JW

Sherlock paced outside the latest scene, texting madly.  
"Sherlock?"  
"SHER-lock!"  
"John, sorry. Either someone is a performance artist making a much belated political statement, or someone is searching for something."  
"I'm guessing you have an idea what someone may be searching for?"  
Sherlock's eyes glittered. "Word on the street is that an Elizabethan jewel went missing from the British Museum recently; a piece known as "The Phoenix Jewel". Of course, no one is officially admitting that a theft took place."  
"So, somehow, someone broke into the British Museum, stole this piece, then stuck it in a wet plaster mould of Maggie Thatcher, and now they are searching for the correct bust to retrieve it?"  
"Stranger things have happened, John."  
"True."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Instead of the pearl from the original story, I've picked this:
> 
> http://www.britishmuseum.org/explore/highlights/highlight_objects/pe_mla/t/the_phoenix_jewel.aspx
> 
> Of course, John could be right, and it's just someone making an outdated political statement.


	68. Chapter 68

John watched with relief as Sherlock buzzed around the crime scene. The presence of Anderson and Donovan went by unnoticed, and his flatmate listened to Lestrade relate the details of the case without a single sarcastic remark.

"We know that there were six of the plaster casts created by an artist who was intending to make a 'statement' to 'honour' the great lady on what would've been her 90th birthday. She was interrupted by a knock on her studio door, just after she poured the first mould. It seems it was a prank as no one was at the door, but when she returned to the piece, it appeared to have been disturbed as there was a dent in it. She smoothed it out and finished all the plaster work, then 'painted' them and delivered them to the shops that had ordered them. Four have been destroyed at the shops where the were stolen from, at the last one, the owner of the last shop was in the wrong place at the wrong time, he attempted to stop the theft, and was killed by-"

"Our favourite 'blunt force trauma?' " grinned Sherlock.

John groaned aloud, but inwardly was amused by his friend's return to his 'sociopathic' form.

"Sherlock-"

"Yes, our old friend, 'blunt force trauma,' perhaps a hammer or brick? " replied Lestrade who laughed in spite of himself.

"What does the artist have to say for herself?" paced Sherlock, as he continued to text.

"She has no idea why anyone would do this to her work, though she's actually quite pleased, she's getting a lot of press for her work as each bust is destroyed."

"Where's the corpse?" Sherlock asked.

"Uhm, it's already at Bart's-I understand if-"

"Let's go, John!"

John gave Lestrade a look and shrugged, and ran to hop into the cab that as usual appeared as if by magic.


	69. Chapter 69

I watch him on the way to Bart's, he's practically vibrating, one knee bouncing as he's texting a mile a minute. It will be the first time he's been to the morgue since-

Oh, damn. I'm on the edge of a panic attack, and suddenly, Sherlock stops moving, "John, breathe. Please. I forgot, I didn't think what it would mean for you. I do apologize. I got caught up in the case, it felt like it used to and-"

He takes my hand and places it on his chest. "Breathe, John, I'm here. Do you feel it? Just take a slow, easy breath and let it out."

Just feeling his heartbeat under my hand calms me and I nod. "Even though I knew you were coming back, there were days when it felt like you were dead because everyone else acted as if you were and just went on...I never went back to Bart's while you were gone, just couldn't-"

"Shh, it's alright, you don't have to explain. You can go back to Baker Street if it's too much?"

I shake my head. "No. It's time, right?" 

He nods and smiles gently, "You know I'd be lost without my blogger."

I turn toward the window and start to laugh, "you would, wouldn't you?"

"Obviously." He grins, and the cab pulls to stop in front of Bart's. I pay, and we exit the cab and we both focus so hard on not looking up that we almost forget to breathe. By the time we make it to the morgue where Molly is working on a case, it feels as if we have just run a marathon. Perhaps we have.

"Sherlock, John?" Molly looks at us in surprise. "Oh-right, the robbery victim. Hold on-"

She unzips the body bag, and Sherlock whips out his magnifier, examines the victim, then nods, "blunt force trauma, odd weapon though, wound has an unusual shape to it, attacker most likely left handed; victim drank too much coffee and smoked cheap cigars, had three cats, one was named Beelzebub-"

"Wha-?" I start, then I laugh, as I look down at him as he cracks a smile. 

"Thanks, Molly," Sherlock indicates we are done, and asks her to let him know if any odd particulates show up in her examination. She nods her head and is about to ask if we want coffee, but knows it's too soon.

"Another time, yeah?" Sherlock promises her and we are off, back to Baker Street.


	70. Chapter 70

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarity's sake, most of this chapter takes place in the wee hours in the morning, Lestrade and Violet are used to knowing the boys are rarely asleep when a case is on.

Sherlock had pinned photos of the scenes where the four busts had been destroyed, then the head shot of the victim, and a history of the Phoenix Jewel, along with mug shots of known jewel thieves, especially those just released from prison.

"Hmmmm, is the artist involved or was her work just an available hiding place because the thief or thieves had no choice but to hide it...need to see the studio...who would steal something like that...hard to sell..."

"Tea, Sherlock."

"Hmmmmm?"

"Tea? You know something British people drink, sometimes with actual food?"

"Not now."

"Now. It's been eighteen hours since you ate last, you've had a biscuit and a ten minute nap. Tea."

Sherlock waves him off and shoots off a text to Lestrade:

"Do you know where the last two busts are?" -SH

"Good morning to you, too, Sunshine, yes. We have people undercover in both shops. Go have tea before John has a stroke." -GL

"How do you-nevermind. I need to see the artist's studio later, want to talk to her-" -SH

"Tea-now." -GL

"Alright, Graham." - SH

"Berk." -GL

 

To be fair, the visit to the morgue had shaken both of them more than they had liked to admit. When they got back to the flat, John collapsed on the couch, while Sherlock retrieved the good bottle of scotch they kept for emergencies and poured them each more than a medicinal dose.

"I'm sorry, John. I just got in that head space, and I didn't think, I had stopped thinking, like I used to be able to do, and it felt..."

"Normal?"

Sherlock nods as he takes a sip and shudders. "Yeah, back to what I used to be, purely instinctive, thoughts were lining up, I could see everything."

John swallows the rest of his drink, and pours another. "That part of you is still there, you just have to be patient."

"But, I was unfair to you, and that is the last thing I ever want to do, John."

"It was time, Sherlock, we survived, yeah? Let it go-"

"Let's go for a walk? Get some Thai, then get started on the case?"

"Lemme shower first, then yeah, that sounds great."

 

Sherlock turned off his phone, slunk sulkily to the table for tea, half a sandwich and a packet of chocolate biscuits before he fell dramatically in a pile on the couch. John grinned as he threw a blanket over the lump and opened his laptop to work on the blog, which had been neglected the last couple of weeks.

"How's 'Lock?"- VS  
"He's good, really, Vi, managed to survive a trip to Bart's and he's eaten twice in less than 24 hours, while on a case." - JW  
"LOL...How's he sleeping?"- VS  
"He's napping now, just hoping he can get a couple hours." -JW  
"Glad he has you, John." - VS  
"We're both lucky sods, Vi." - JW  
"I know, 'night, John." - VS  
"Night, Vi." - JW

John tapped away on his laptop; started a new post regarding their new case, responded to a few comments, and eventually nodded off.

Sherlock woke with a start a couple of hours later as he heard John snoring close by. He uncurled from the couch, stood and stretched to knock the kinks out, then covered his blogger with a blanket.

"Night, my friend."


	71. Chapter 71

"Interview with the artist @ 1pm. Be nice." -GL  
"Don't be myself then?" -SH  
"Right. ;)" -GL  
"Nothing overnight?" -SH  
"Nada, will let you know ASAP if info changes." -GL

They had a few hours before the meeting, so Sherlock paced and babbled away while John managed to get a couple pieces of toast with honey and three cups of tea into him.

"You may want to bring your gun, John."  
"Really? To an artist's studio?"  
"John, it's still a case, one person is dead already, and artists are notoriously, well, a bit unpredictable."

They arrived on time, and the artist answered the door, "Ah, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson. I believe we have a mutual acquaintance?"  
Sherlock and John entered the studio to see a sculpture that resembled the not so late, great Irene Adler.  
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Predictable."  
"Oh. Realllllly, Mr. Holmes?" They sensed her presence before she actually appeared in the gallery, the same perfume, same tap of stilettos, 4 inch still, but mercifully she appeared fully dressed for once. White blouse, tight black trousers and of course those red Jimmy Choos.  
"Remember Kate? Perhaps you don't, as you spent much of the time of your acquaintance drugged, as I seem to recall? Well- during our 'exile,' we discovered she is quite the sculptress, and we managed quite well in the smuggling trade in the Middle East..."  
"And I'm sure you have nothing to do with the Phoenix Jewel's disappearance or the Maggie Thatcher busts..."  
"Little old me? I'm hurt, Sherlock."  
"I doubt that very much, Irene."  
"Shall we have tea since you boys are here?"  
"No, thank you. I would like to see the area where your casts were made, Kate, if that would be possible?"  
"Follow me, please?"  
"So, John-how are things since he's been back from the dead?" Irene removed her shoes as she curled into the overstuffed chair appearing to settle in for a chat.  
"Things are grand Irene."  
"Can we expect a happy announcement anytime soon?"  
"We aren't like that."  
"Uh-huh."  
"We're done here, John. Irene, lovely to see you as always, and no, I'm not interested in dinner." Sherlock swept through the door, and John nodded a farewell.  
"I wouldn't bother, Irene."  
"No, perhaps not; perhaps not."


	72. Chapter 72

"So."  
"So?"  
"Not dead."  
"Obviously."  
"Ahhh...that 'business trip' you made 'for Mycroft'..."  
"Yup."  
"Anything I should know?"  
"I owed her a death."  
"Excuse me?"  
"The pool."  
"It was...she was the phone call-"  
"Yes."  
"Ah....What now?"  
"She's obviously involved. I'm theorizing-"  
"...guessing?"  
"I never guess...'theorizing' that she was hired to steal the jewel, but then decided to keep it for herself. Kate hid it in the cast of one the Thatcher busts for safe keeping, but by mistake it was delivered with the others to the shops. The busts were all painted the same colours, so they had to be destroyed in order to find it, and in the theft of the fourth one, the shop keeper was working late, unfortunately for him..."  
"So, Irene-"  
"No, she would never get her hands dirty, she is like Moriarty in that respect, and I'm sure she 'regrets' the death as much as she can regret anything. The idiots she hired are probably long gone, they would know better than to show up for payment after all the messes. If nothing else, Irene was always neat in her escapades."  
"Except with you."  
"Meaning?"  
"You know what I mean."  
"We never-"  
"You didn't have to...there was something between you. You were both sloppy."  
"Sentiment, you mean?"  
"If that's what you choose to call it."  
"She intrigued me. Perhaps you could call it attraction if you must, she was the first...the only woman to use her brain against me, and win."  
"You beat her."  
"No, she had me dead to rights, the password was a fluke. It was a joke. She isn't capable of feeling anything close to anything like love."  
"But you-"  
"John, I helped her in Karachi simply to see if Mycroft would buy it. He did. And, I owed her, for saving you."


	73. Chapter 73

"What?"

"I made several errors in judgment with Moriarty. I solved the cases, but I ultimately failed you. I allowed certain events to happen and if Irene had not called at that moment, you would not be here. It was my arrogance, my absolute conviction that all that mattered was that I was right, that almost cost me- you-"

"Sherlock, breathe, please stop. Please. We are ok, yeah?"

"Damn it. I need to go home, John."

"Sherlock. You and I are alright. Do you understand me? Look, there's a bench, I need you to sit, please?"

"John-"

"Stop it. All that matters to me is right now. This time we have now, it's all we have, yeah? I'm not the same person I was then and neither are you. You've had time to think and overthink every thing you have ever done, every word you've ever spoken. It's time to let it go. Look at me. Damn it, Sherlock. Let's go check with Lestrade and see if there is any news. We can tell him your theory, and then we are going to get some of that coconut cake, yeah?"

Sherlock rubbed his face, trying to recover his equilibrium, but managed a slight grin as John pushed him into the cab that pulled up. 

"Got a theory about the Iron Lady case." - JW  
"Fabulous. Be in my office in 10, yeah? - GL  
"Anything new?" - JW  
"Could say that, why is 'Big Brother' interested in this?" - GL  
"Damn. Can you meet us @ Baker St?" - JW  
"Better be good." - GL  
"You'll love this." - JW


	74. Chapter 74

Sherlock and John were calmly having tea when Lestrade bounded up the stairs. He looked at John, then at Sherlock and sighed.

"Should I be sitting down?"

John pushed a chair at him. He looked at it suspiciously, but finally sat down.

"Gimme."

"You may recall a time when you were called here regarding an agent of the CIA 'falling' out of a window several times..."

"Uhmmhmmmm?"

"...which was related to a certain person who 'died' on Christmas, but not really...?"

"Uhmmhmmmm...."

"...and this same person you may recall had been known in some circles as 'The Woman'...?"

"That case-the Palace? The sheet? That really happened?"

John and Sherlock nodded, while Lestrade pinched his nose. "Oy. So, let me get this straight. 'The Woman' has returned, and is somehow mixed up with the Iron Ladies, and Mycroft is sniffing around it..."

"I would suggest stopping by the artist's studio again, but they may have closed shop and moved on already." Sherlock muttered. "I'm thinking either you have discovered the jewel in one of the last busts or someone beat you to it?"

Lestrade grinned as he pulled out a box and handed it to Sherlock. "Took a while as we didn't want to destroy it if in fact you were correct."

Sherlock opened the box and gently removed the jewel, sealed in a plastic bag, and considered it. "I can see why it appealed to her," he murmured. He replaced it and handed it back to Lestrade.

"Do I want to know any more than I do?" Lestrade asked, hoping the answer was a 'no.'

"No." Sherlock and John shook their heads at the same time.

"Alright, then. I'll let you know what I find at the studio; good luck dealing with Mycroft, boys."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

John walked Lestrade to the door. "Pint tomorrow, then? There's a good match on-"

John nodded, "Sure, 8ish?"

 

Ten minutes later....

Sherlock was resting with his head in John's lap as the familiar steps strode angrily into the flat.

"How did you-why-I demand an explanation-John-" Mycroft spluttered.

"Mycroft."

"He knows everything, Mycroft, what do you want?"

"We missed her by ten minutes."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"You have no idea where she is-"

"Why would I?"

"Damn it, Sherlock."

"Has anything that was on her phone gone public in the time she was gone?"

"No." Mycroft grudgingly admitted, his anger rapidly losing steam, as he sank into the chair that Lestrade had recently vacated.

"You have nothing on her, the jewel was recovered, I don't see the problem, Mycroft." Sherlock waved his hand in the general direction of the kitchen. "Have a drink before you go."

Mycroft glared at his brother, then at John, and knowing he was beaten this time, sighed, picked up his umbrella and took his leave. "You will be hearing from me, Sherlock-"

"Vi and Annie's wedding is in a few weeks, I'm assuming you RSVP'd already?"

The door slammed as indignantly as a door can slam and if Mycroft was still standing there, he would have heard laughter exploding in the flat.

"His face," John sighed as he wiped tears from his eyes.

Sherlock grinned and rolled over, as John turned on the telly and his fingers returned to Sherlock's hair. Soon, they were both sound asleep; an hour later, Mrs. Hudson tiptoed in, and threw an afghan over them.

"Night, boys."


	75. Chapter 75

After our 'reunion' with Irene Adler, Sherlock decided to take a couple of weeks away from Baker Street and take some rooms near Cambridge in order to do some research.

"You do have some holiday time coming, don't you, John? Perhaps you can find something-"

"Of course, I'll come." I grinned at his shyness, knowing it was still easier for him when I was nearby. "I think we both need a bit of a holiday."

He nods and begins muttering about the things we need to take with us. "I have a friend from University who has a nice set of rooms he said we can use as long as I only experiment in the labs, not in his kitchen."

I laugh. "Knows you well then, does he?"

"My one flatmate who tolerated me, he left after a couple of terms, as there was a family tragedy...maybe someday I'll tell you about it..." he trails off, and I look up sharply as I hear his breathing change.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmmm....oh, John. I was just thinking, he was my only friend other than you, my first friend. He was tolerant of my habits. No, I didn't start using until after he had left, I mean the quirks you gracefully put up with, they started in earnest at University...haven't seen him in years. He will meet us there with the keys, as he is off to take care of family business, wanted someone to stay in his rooms while he's away, there has been some 'funny goings-on'."

"Sherlock..." I warn. "Holiday? For both of us?"

"It's just a question of a stolen exam, nothing major, just a little puzzle, John..." His eyes twinkled, and I sighed.

"Alright, let's get packed up then." I shake my head as I could never say no to a case and he knew it.


	76. Chapter 76

"Victor Trevor, this is my flatmate and colleague, "Dr. John Watson."

"Friend." 

Victor Trevor laughed as he grasped my hand and gave it a hearty shake. "Very few people are fortunate enough to be able to claim Sherlock here as a 'friend.' They are few and far betwe-"

"You said you had a 'situation,' Victor?" Sherlock smiled his tight, 'I need a smoke' grimace as we sat down in three poshly comfortable chairs.

"Mmmm, yes, I am a professor at Trinity College, my focus is Elizabethan drama with a focus on Shakespeare, especially the historical plays. Do you know them, John? Sherl here had them all memorized by age 16, wasn't it?"

"Oh yes, I can shout out the St. Crispin's Day speech with the best of them."

I couldn't help but throw a grin in Sherlock's direction, he rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders.

"Of course, yes, well, I have three of my top students all vying for a teaching position, and the exam is in fact on Henry V. I will give them a well-known speech to look over for ten minutes, then they have to give an essentially extemporaneous talk on how Henry's political and military prowess would be perceived in today's world. I have selected the speech, and had the speech highlighted on my laptop in my office two days ago...."

"And..." sighed Sherlock from the depths of his chair, on the edge of peevishness.

"...And...though my door had been locked, when I looked at the screen again, it looked different, as if someone had scrolled through some pages, and it was obvious the printer had been used. Leading me to believe..."

"...that someone had broken in, saw what was highlighted and made a copy?" concluded Sherlock.

"Precisely. I can easily find another speech, and catch them out, but I'd like to know who was responsible before the exam."

"Quite."

"I will give you keys to my office and the flat, you have my number, try not to blow up anything, Sherl- eh? John- a pleasure, I'm so pleased that Sherlock has found someone-"

"The pleasure is mine." I could feel my hand readying, itching to lay him out, but plastered my finest fake smile on my face until he left in his Jaguar.

"You were friends???" As I took my first breath since I shook hands with Victor Trevor, I wanted to wash my hands of him, literally.

Sherlock sighed. "He used to be human, but I think he had to grow up too fast. His office can wait. I think you should hear his story, the reason he left Cambridge; he was essentially my first case, my first failure."


	77. Chapter 77

Sherlock took out his wallet, and carefully removed a yellowing, folded, unfolded and refolded sheet of computer paper.

" 'The supply of game for London is going steadily up. Head-keeper Hudson, we believe, has been now told to receive all orders for fly-paper and for preservation of your hen-pheasant's life.' This was the message that Victor's father received the moment before his face went pale and he dropped dead of a heart attack."

"It sounds like nonsense," I mutter. "I suppose it is a code?"

"Obviously."

"As I told you, Victor and I were flatmates, and he was the only friend I had made at University in my first year. I was who I am now, only more awkward and lanky if you can imagine. I rarely found anyone I could spend two minutes with without insulting them or becoming bored out of my mind. Then I met Victor; brilliant, sociable, attractive, and never boring. We became fast friends, studied together, attended plays, mostly Shakespeare of course; we could stay up for days just arguing about the meaning of certain passages....eventually, he invited me to the family estate over the holidays, as for obvious reasons, I had no desire to return to my own home."

"And?"

"....and....I thought his father was brilliant. He was a scientist, botanist, chemist, knew the stars, and could quote the Bard like no one I knew. But I also deduced he had a past he was ashamed of, that Victor did not know about. After dinner one night, Victor told his father how I could deduce facts about people that were dead on, and his father took me on, put a ten pound note on the table, and said, "alright, son, tell me something about myself, if you're right, the money is yours."

I sigh, and nod in understanding.

"In my innocence, I told of a past based on tattoos on his forearm, he had once been a sailor, and a prisoner; the way he spoke in colloquialisms not of England, but Australia... immediately, he slid the money over to me, and left the table. I still have the ten pound note in my wallet, I could not bear to spend it after that weekend. He never spoke to me again except to invite me into his study the morning we were due to return for the new term. "

"He said, 'Son, you have a gift for observation, but you display a lack of tact and awareness that may get you into trouble later, think of that in the future. I wish you all the best.' He shook my hand and dismissed me. I never saw him again."

"Victor and I returned to Cambridge, but were never as close again, and a few weeks later he returned to the estate, as his father needed him at home. 'I'm sorry, Sherlock, I wish things turned out differently, I have the feeling I won't be back. You are amazing, and if the world was a better place...' "

"He was correct. A man from his father's past discovered how well off he had become, and after decades of searching for him, showed up at the estate. Victor's father begged his son to speak nicely to the man who never left his father's side for the last few weeks of his life, and for his father's sake, Victor did his best, but seethed as he watched his father slowly disappear into drink and despair. Victor wrote me a couple of times, and I could do nothing to help my friend or his father from my rooms. Finally, that odd message that I read to you was emailed to his father, and after hearing a cry, Victor ran into his father's study, to find him already dead in his chair."

"This is the first time you've seen him since-"

"I attended his father's funeral out of respect, and out of friendship, but he did not acknowledge my presence except to nod at me at the service. It has been over ten years..."

"I'm so sorry-"

Sherlock stood and shook his head, carefully refolding the message and placing it back into his wallet. "I keep this as a reminder of my past arrogance and fallibility. And a reminder of how precious your companionship and friendship truly is, John. Please know I am always grateful to you for your constancy..."

"Sherlock-"

"Yes, well, Victor's office? We can see if anything has been tampered with, hopefully he hasn't destroyed any evidence..."

"Sherlock. It is my honour to be your friend." I murmured, dusting off his shoulder.

"Come, John?" He said, coughing a bit, trying to cover for any sentiment that would clog up the works.

And off we went.


	78. Chapter 78

We walked over to Victor's office, in spite of the grey dampness of the day; we needed to air things out a bit and Sherlock needed to stretch his legs after the train.

He rattled the keys in his pocket, and wrapped his scarf more tightly around himself, seemingly using it as armour against his past transgressions.

"Here we are." He stopped suddenly, at an old, but well-maintained oak door. Sighing, he examined his handful of keys and selected one. "Always a bit OCD, was Victor." He showed me the carefully labeled key ring, and I chuckled a bit. 

"At least his desk will be neat?" I asked.

We walked into Victor's office to discover that not only was it not neat as a pin, but had been turned upside down; books torn from shelves, files and papers covered the furniture, paintings dangled haphazardly from the walls, tumblers and bottles were smashed and ground into the carpet.

"Damn...." I muttered.  
Sherlock swore as he examined a paper that was driven into the middle of Victor's desk with a letter opener. "It would appear his father's past is not finished with him yet. The number on this paper is the same as his father's prison tattoo."

At that moment, Victor walked into the room, "I forgot some-"

"I'm sorry, Vic-" Sherlock began.

"No. Not again. Sherl, please. Please, can you help me, this time?"

I felt like a third wheel, watching these old friends relive one of the worst times of their young adulthood, so offered to get coffees.

"No, John. We'll need something stronger, I believe. A good bottle of scotch and three tumblers, as it seems there are no usable ones available."

I nodded and watched as Victor Trevor collapsed into the least damaged leather chair, face buried in his hands. Sherlock caught my eye and asked me to trust him, not in words, but in his eyes, I saw what he had once been; open enough to be in love with another human being.


	79. Chapter 79

"Vi-Victor Trevor?" - JW

" 'Hey, Vi, how are things?' Vict-oh, John." - VS

"Vi-" - JW

"Of course I don't know from the horse's mouth, just what I know from other sources; damn-Victor was one of his excuses for going on the streets, he finished uni, was offered jobs, by Big Brother of course, but disappeared." - VS

"He's working on a case for Victor that was supposed to be simple, nothing major and it just blew up in his face." - JW

"Shit, John. I'm sorry, just be there for him. He will need you when it goes bad again." - VS

"Vi-What if-I-" - JW

"John-what has he done for you?"- VS

"Unfair, Vi." - JW

"Is it, John?" - VS

"I didn't ask him to-" - JW

"I know. Victor may want more from him this time, that he can't give him." -VS

"I'll be there, Vi, I promise." - JW


	80. Chapter 80

When John returned from scavenging three odd tumblers and a decent single malt, Sherlock was looking out the window, while Victor was replacing undamaged books onto the bookcase. John made room on the desk and poured out three doubles.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned abruptly. "John." He accepted the glass John handed him, but did not drink, just swirled it in his hand. "Nothing more can be learned here. Victor, I will contact you when my investigation is complete. Good evening."

Sherlock drank down the scotch, replaced on the desk and left the office. Victor made no attempt to speak or move, so John followed.

"Sherlock? Talk to me."  
"I had forgotten how changeable the weather is here. I used to spend weeks monitoring the winds and humidity..."  
"Sherlock-"  
"He invented the initial case to bring me here. He thought, he believed there was a chance-"  
"His office?"  
"I have reason to believe someone connected to his father's past is involved, I need to finish this, John."  
"Can't we call in Lestrade?"  
"Not his division, this isn't something the police have jurisdiction over, John."  
"Sherlock."  
"I can't do this without you, John."  
"You don't have to."


	81. Chapter 81

They returned to Victor's flat, exhausted and hungry. Sherlock was lost to his thoughts again; it was easier to stay at the flat for a couple of days than try to find another place this late in the day.

John threw together some easy pasta with olive oil, garlic and tomatoes; they ate while watching the news, then washed up together.

"You know you can tell me anything, Sherlock."

"Movie? There must be something on-"

"Sherlock?"

"He apologized for 'deserting' me; I told him that was an over dramatization of what had happened. He had wanted to get in touch with me, but was afraid it was too late or something. Then he told me how he invented the case about the Shakespeare passage to get me to come on to his 'turf' as he called it. He told me he still had 'feelings' for me. 'Feelings,' John. God- I'm just so tired."

John led him to the couch, and turned on the telly, it was a classic Hitchcock film, one of their favourites. John sat, and patted the space next to him. Sherlock curled up with his head on John's lap, finally able to let out the breath he had been holding all day. John rested his hand in Sherlock's curls, grounding both of them in the present. After a few minutes, Sherlock was quietly snoring.

"How is he?" - VS  
"As good as can be expected." - JW  
"He's there with you?" - VS  
"Yes." - JW  
"You're a decent bloke, John Watson." - VS  
"He's my best friend, Vi." - JW  
"He knows that, you know he loves you, yeah?" - VS  
"Yeah. I know." - JW  
"You won't let him down, will you, John?" - VS  
"No, Vi - he's my life, you should already know that." - JW  
"It's enough for you, as things are?" - VS  
"Yes, Vi, I'm not leaving him. Don't worry." - JW  
"Thank you, John. He's been left too much." - VS  
"I know." - JW  
"Good night." - VS  
"Night, Vi."- JW


	82. Chapter 82

John woke up to the sounds of tea making. At some point during the night, Sherlock had covered him up, and started on his usual 'pinning' of the wall. In this case, he used tape as he didn't want to leave holes, courteous for once, John considered.

"Pins didn't work, I tried." muttered the detective, from the kitchen; reading his mind as usual.

John laughed, and Sherlock managed a smirk, as he brought in a tray filled with tea and biscuits. They spent a few quiet moments sipping their tea and munching the ginger snaps. "He always liked good tea," Sherlock mumbled, as he walked over to the wall of evidence.

"Sherlock-"

"Victor has been getting these emails, in the same code as the message that his father received before his father died. It must be coming from a family member of the gang his father was part of in Australia. Perhaps someone who did more time or missed out on-"

"Did you sleep?"

"Briefly, at least an hour or two. I'm fine, John. Just let's work the case, yeah?"

"You know-"

"Yes." Sherlock turned from the wall and nodded. "You are more than I deserve, as always, John. Perhaps someday, I will be able to understand and accept what you offer so easily. I don't-"

"You do, you know." 

Sherlock turns back to the wall, unable to speak for a moment. 

"Thank you....uhm, as I was saying, I've been tracing records of the trial, attempting to determine who is still around that would want to avenge themselves upon Victor. There are a couple of interesting finds, including the fact that one of his students is a great nephew of the Hudson that is mentioned in the message."


	83. Chapter 83

Sherlock continued. "Last night, I studied the transcripts of the court case in Australia against the gang that the elder Trevor led as a young man. Hudson testified against the members of the gang that had been arrested at the last job; he had been a bank guard who was wounded as they tried to escape. He never named the man who shot him in his testimony; I assume he always planned to blackmail Victor's father, it just took him a long time to locate him. Remember, this was before the internet, back in the 1970s. Finally, after 35 years, he discovered where the elder Trevor resided, a posh estate far from civilization, and from what he gathered he was an easy target, no close family to speak of."

"And...?"

"....And, Hudson had a much older sister, married a man named Gilchrist, they left Australia before Hudson did, and it was through his sister that he finally learned of Trevor's whereabouts. His sister had a son, and this son had a son, a young man now attending this university, and he happens to be one of Victor's 'brightest' stars. I think we need to pay him a visit."

"Later, yeah? It's three in the morning, Sherlock."

"Oh? So it is, apologies, John."

"You keep working, I'm going to get a nap. I know there is no point in trying to get you to rest at this point, right?"

Sherlock laughs, a rare, true sound that makes John believe that someday, he will be okay. "You know me too well, John. Get some sleep. We'll try to meet him at breakfast, say 8ish?"

"Right."

John falls asleep in the guest bedroom to the sound of Sherlock pacing and muttering. A few hours later, he wakes to the scent of Earl Grey by his nose and the sound of a cheerful Holmes piece, usually the sign of a successful morning's work.

"Come, John, drink your tea, you have time for a shower if you hurry."

With a sigh, John throws himself out of the warm, firm bed, downs his now lukewarm tea, has a brief shower, throws on some good running clothes, just in case, and by 8:01, they were out the door.


	84. Chapter 84

Sherlock knows Gilchrist's schedule and found his facebook page online, so knows what he looks like. 

"He's on the rowing team, and they should be in the gymnasium, getting ready for a meet."

We approach the gym, and spot him toweling off, getting ready for his next class. "He's Pre-Med, John."

"Andy? Andy Gilchrist?"  
"Uhm-yeah? Do I know you?"  
"We are friends of Professor Trevor, I'm Sher-"  
"Damn. Really? Wow-it's an honour, sir and you, must be Dr. Watson, a pleasure, honestly. Can I buy you guys a coffee?"

Sherlock and I glance at each other and shrug. "Great! Great, wait til the guys hear about this."

We finally settle at a nearby coffee shop with our coffees and the scone I've convinced Sherlock to nibble at while we interview Gilchrist.

"We're here because Professor Trevor had his office broken into yesterday, and it was ransacked."

"I heard about that, I hope nothing was destroyed, he has some excellent first editions..."

"I believe they were spared. We believe it was someone who knows of his late father's past?"

At this, Gilchrist's ruddy face pales. "Damn. I thought it was just family lore-my nana would tell me stories about her 'ne'er do well' brother...at a party a few weeks ago, I, uhm, got a little buzzed and started telling the guys the stories, adding bits and pieces to glam it up a bit..."

"Do you know how the code was used?"

"The code? You mean-someone has been sending Professor Trevor messages using that code? It was a game we learned as kids, the story went that my great-uncle got tight with the bank robbers so he could someday blackmail Old Trevor, since he was the only one who got away, so he learned that crazy code they had, it was easy, and I still use it once in a while-oh. Damnnnn."

"Did you teach it to anyone that night?"

"Miles McLaren...not really mates, but he has the best booze and..."

Sherlock nods. "I'm familiar with the family, I knew his older brother. So, you showed him how the code worked, and he was made to believe what, Professor Trevor had 'treasure' of some kind in his office?"

"Not in so many words, but, yeah, I may have given him the impression..."

"You, McLaren and another student are up for a teaching position, correct?"

"Daulat Ras. Daulat will probably get it. Miles is quicker on his feet, but doesn't know Henry V like Daulat, he is somewhat fanatical about ol' Prince Hal..."

Sherlock cuts him off. "Is it possible that Miles would attempt to blackmail his way into a job?"

Gilchrist smirks. "He's a meaner version of his brother, and if you knew Colin, then-"

Sherlock sighs, "As I thought." He looks sharply at the young student and comes to a decision. "Thank you, Andrew. Keep your nose clean, concentrate on the rowing and sonnets-"

"You won't tell the Prof who I am? I never meant him any harm, I swear. He's the best instructor I've ever had-"

"No, it's time the past stays in the past. It's done enough damage, I will deal with Miles and Professor Trevor, your name will not be mentioned."

Gilchrist offers Sherlock his hand. "Thank you, sir, and again, it is an honour to have met you and Dr. Watson." Sherlock hesitates briefly, then takes his hand and gives him a brief nod, before walking away.

"Did he really come back from the dead, sir?"

I think for a moment before answering. "Yes, Gilchrist, on more than one occasion. And yes, he will keep his word. He always does."


	85. Chapter 85

"Colin was one of my 'friends' at Uni," Sherlock said, answering the question I hadn't posed, shoving his hands into his pockets as we made our way to McLaren's rooms.

"I don't need to know."

"No more secrets, John. I never thought I'd ever have someone so permanent in my life, I'm not trying to hide anything from you anymore, I feel like you have the right to know where I came from..."

"Let's finish this, yeah?"

That seems to help as he straightens up and puts on that glacial look he is famous for.

We are about to knock on McLaren's door when it is yanked open by a well-built, well-dressed, posh twenty-something, about an inch or two taller than Sherlock.

"I figured the 'Consulting Detective and his Doctor' were on their way, when I heard about the Prof's rooms." There was arrogance in his eyes, built generation by generation of privilege and money, and a trace of fear.

"Miles, can we talk?"

"Why not? Please, come in." He led us into a nicely laid out set of rooms. "Look familiar, Sherl'? Ah, probably not, I gather you probably don't remember much of your Uni days after the Prof left, hmmmm?"

Sherlock shot me a dark look. "We are here about the messages sent to Professor Trevor and the ransacking of his office. I suggest we stay away from the past as Dr. Watson has a mean right hook."

I feel the tension release a bit, but still wish I had my Browning, just to put a bit of scare into the arrogant sod.

Strangely enough, McLaren breathed a sigh of relief. "Really? That's it? I thought-"

Sherlock smiled. That smile that meant no good for someone. "You thought I wouldn't do a little research on you? Really. You do know who I am, don't you? I can be just as cold and ruthless if not more so than you or your brother. I have made people disappear completely in ways you don't want to even contemplate. Sit down."

Miles and I both sit down, hard.

"You will apologize to Professor Trevor. You will withdraw from this university, immediately. And you will forget you ever knew that code."

"Or?" 

"Or, I will inform Colin of your activities, and I will involve the Yard."

"I don't believe you."

Sherlock narrows his eyes. "You have been running a gambling racket, amongst other activities from these very rooms, and I have tons, tons, of evidence which can be emailed to the Yard in seconds. It would hit the papers before Colin could say boo, and you know how he feels about dishonouring the family name, yes?"

Miles nods slowly, knowing he is beaten. I almost feel a bit of sympathy for the kid...nah...I'd like nothing better than to knock him down, all six foot two inches of the arsehole.

"I believe you have some packing to do. I know the professor is out of town. You will write him a note apologizing for your little 'stunt', then you will remove yourself from these rooms. I have no doubt that you will be able to come up with a believable excuse for leaving. I will be remaining in town for a couple of weeks, so I will know if you cock this up. Are you hearing me?"

"Yes. Yes, sir. It was just a bit of fun, really. You don't know-"

"Don't I?" Sherlock looks him in the face. "You know who my brother is, don't you? You've had it easy, in comparison. Grow up a little. You obviously have the brains, get yourself straightened out. I do believe you could have a future, if you remove your head from your arse. John?"

 

"Thank you, Vi." - SH  
"Happy to help. Little twerp." - VS  
"How are the wedding plans going?" - SH  
"Mum is driving us crazy, we are trying to keep it simple, but she knows neither you or Myc will ever tie the knot, so she wants to give the village a show." - VS  
"Sorry, Vi." -SH  
"No, it's fine, 'Lock. She's enjoying herself, and Annie loves her." - VS  
"Of course. She can turn on the charm when she wants to." - SH  
"You ok?" - VS  
"Yeah..." - SH  
"What? 'Lock?" - VS  
"John - he's still here." - SH  
"Of course he is, you dork." - VS  
"Why, Vi? What can I give him?" - SH  
"You. He loves you." - VS  
"But-" SH  
"But nothing. Think, love." - VS  
"He could have anyone." - SH  
"Oh. Ohhhhh." - SH  
"Oh." - VS  
"Thank you, Vi-" - SH  
"I knew you'd get there someday." - VS  
"Night, Vi. Love you." - SH  
"Night, sweetie, get some sleep, yeah?" - VS  
"Yes, tonight I will."- SH


	86. Chapter 86

Sherlock sent a text to Victor, letting him know the investigation was complete, and that they would be staying in the flat as planned.

"Please stay as long as you wish." - VT  
"Thank you." - SH  
"No, I truly appreciate-" - VT  
"Don't give it another thought." - SH  
"Please forgive my earlier, uhm, suggestion, I didn't realize." - VT  
"Apology accepted." - SH

He turned off his phone and looked over at John, who was typing up notes from another case. "I'm starving. Do you feel like Indian? There used to be a good place near here."

John grinned and shut his laptop. "Sure, sounds good."

They took a stroll through the town; Sherlock pointed out old haunts, favourite bookstores and those places that 'used to be.' John learned of a busking violinist who would appear on a certain corner at a certain time every Saturday evening without fail; Sherlock had always wanted to play with him, but never had the courage to ask. Instead, he would sit at the coffeehouse across the street and drink coffee after coffee and close his eyes and lose himself in the music. Then one Saturday, he didn't show up. Sherlock asked around and realized no one else had noticed, no one else had paid attention to the man who played on the corner. At first it angered him that people were that unaware, so ignorant of everything around them. Then he found that he liked the idea that the violinist essentially played for him and him alone. It made him feel less alone, less odd somehow.

At the end of the story, John grabbed Sherlock's hand, and gave it a squeeze. Sherlock took a deep breath and squeezed back. A moment later they found the Indian restaurant, exactly as he had remembered.

"Sherlock???!" An elderly Indian woman in full dress flung herself out the door. "We've missed you! Come, come inside, we will get you your regular, yes? And for two?! I knew you would find someone special."

"This is John."

"Not THE John Watson? We read the blog all the time!"

John blushed and bowed, as they all laughed. "Your regular table is all ready, Sherlock. Come, sit!"

"Sorry, " Sherlock whispered as they were alone again. "I spent a lot of time here. She always worried because I never had a date. She kept trying to set me up with her daughters; she has three of them."

John attempted to stifle a laugh as all three daughters carried in platters of food. As they returned to the kitchen, he couldn't hold it in any longer, his laughter could be heard across the street.

John wiped his eyes as Sherlock grinned at him. For once, they weren't apologizing for misunderstandings, assumptions, or the past. Sherlock grabbed a piece of naan and the dish of palak paneer, dumping half of it on his plate. He looked across at John and knew as long as John was in his life, he could handle anything. 

"You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Eat up, there will be more coming."

John grinned, and grabbed the rice and chicken curry. He realized how fortunate he was to be sharing a meal with his best friend, a man who had given up so much for him...

"John. I am the fortunate one. You have no idea-"

"Yeah, yeah I do."

"Boys!!! Ready for more?"

They look at each and laugh, they can simply enjoy being together. Tomorrow may bring other trials, new puzzles, but for now, all that matters is tackling the giant meal together.


	87. Chapter 87

They spent the next two weeks reading, sleeping and eating possibly too much Indian food. Sherlock had discovered some old French works on poisonous plants that he spent hours translating and correcting of course. John spent time redesigning both of their blogs in hopes that Sherlock's would get a few more hits.

Once in a while a curious student would knock on the door, and they would invite them in for tea; Sherlock acknowledged he was a bit of a celebrity and didn't mind the fuss in a place where he once felt so out of place and lost.

They were packing up on the day when Victor was expected back, when Gilchrist banged on their door. 

"I heard you guys were leaving today, and I wanted to stop by to thank you before you left. I got an email from Professor Trevor, this morning and he's decided to take on both Daulat and me as teaching assistants next term. So, thank you-"

Sherlock shook his head. "No thanks are necessary, you are an honest person from what I can tell, your family history should not be a hindrance to you. I wish you the best." He put out his hand and Gilchrist shook it heartily.

"Well-I have to go brush up on the Henry plays, it's truly been an honour, sirs." He made a quick bow and nearly ran over Victor Trevor on his way out. "Sorry, sir, just on my way to the library."

"I see you've met Gilchrist, good kid, a bit nervy, but honest, I think." Victor dumped his bags and fell onto the couch. "I see the flat is still standing, Sherlock? And thanks again for clearing up that mess; I hope you enjoyed your time here, sometimes the past can be too much..."

"We had a brilliant time, Victor, thank you for the invitation, but we do need to finish packing if we are to make our train."

"Of course. I should go to my office and work on getting it back together. John." He nodded in John's direction and left quietly.

They made the train, returning home just in time to hear Lestrade's footsteps bang up the stairs.

"I was hoping you two were back in town, got something you might find interesting." Sherlock and John share a look, sigh and sit in their chairs.

"Case of murder, or what appears to be murder, and the only evidence I've found is this pair of glasses, found in the victim's hand." He pulls out a delicate pair of golden pince-nez. "They've been dusted and processed of course."

"Of course." Sherlock takes out his magnifier and examines them. "They are very old, but with new lenses, someone treasures these and in fact is almost blind without them. If I were you, I'd place an ad with a photo of them and list my address as contact information. The person who wears these is meticulous, somewhat absent-minded at times, and I believe would only kill if threatened, or perceived a threat. She wears these on special occasions, perhaps on a rare date...perhaps a date gone wrong?"

"Reasonable assumption, male victim in his twenties found outside a popular restaurant, stabbed with what appears to be a thin blade of some kind. Could have been self-defense. I'll get that ad placed when I get back to the office. We are going thru CCTV from that evening as well. Hope you boys had a nice holiday, sorry to drop this in your lap just as you get back."

"I was going to make tea, if you'd like a cup," Sherlock says as he rises from his chair. Both John and Lestrade are stunned into silence. Sherlock rolls his eyes, "I do know how, John just makes it better."

"Uhm, yeah, sure, just no drugs in it, yeah?"

"That was a one time experiment, for a case...exactly why I don't make tea, and it was coffee..."

John laughs, and stands, "I'll make it."

Sherlock sighs and drops back into his chair. "Anything else interesting while we were away?"

"Nope, they seemed to know you were on holiday."

 

"We're back, dinner soon?" - SH  
"Recovering from Mum's visit, how about in a couple of days?" - VS  
"LOL, Annie finally had enough?" - SH  
"Nope, still in their honeymoon period, Mum threatened to bring the baby books next visit."- VS  
"NO!" - SH  
"Yes....god help us." - VS  
"At least we were cute kids." - SH  
"There is that. ;)" - VS  
"Talk to you soon." - SH  
"Night, 'Lock." - VS


	88. Chapter 88

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Took a step from these boys for a bit, but will post new chapters as the mood hits, as we still have a while til Season 4 ;)
> 
> Some Sayers readers may find bits of Harriet Vane in Anna. :)

Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, the glasses sitting in front of him. He was resting his chin on his hands lost in thought.

John shuffled into the kitchen and yawned. "Got her figured out yet?"

"Hmmmm...oh, John. No, she is a puzzle, contradictions everywhere you look. The frames are obviously important to her. They are from the late Victorian, perhaps very early Edwardian, family heirloom. She has had them repaired, but not as well as she could have, so she lacks resources, but the lenses are almost brand new...there is a bit of oil paint on the frames, as if she is constantly adjusting them as she paints, so they don't fit her well...at times she will move them to rest on the top of her head, when she needs to take a break...there is a hint of shampoo that you can't get outside of the most posh salon, we may head over there in a day or two if she doesn't appear-"

"Ah-there she is."

Sure enough, a knock at their door brought Sherlock out of his seat and he glided over to his chair and nodded to John to admit her.

She wasn't beautiful, but striking, something a bit too strong, fiercely independent, flashing green eyes took in the two men and she laughed aloud. "Damnnnn, the fucking dynamic duo, I'm screwed, aren't I?"

"American?"

"Only half, genius-'Mum' came from landed gentry, or so the story goes, father met her at Harvard. But, you know why I'm here, where are the coppers to slap the cuffs on me?"

"Drop the act, I can help you, if you are straight with me."

She sighed, and would have toppled over if John hadn't caught her softly by the elbow. She flinched as if burned. 

Sherlock stood, and approached her slowly. "You are safe here. No one will touch you without your consent. John is a doctor, he was preventing a fall, nothing else."

She opened her eyes and looked Sherlock in the face. "You...you, understand-but, how?"

"Not import-"

"It is to me, please?" She whispered.

Sherlock stepped back. Not even Vi had found a way in as this stranger did in less than five minutes. He blinked, then shook his head. "I don't even know your name."

"Anna, is that enough to start with?"

"Anna. I am Sherlock, this is John. Anything you say here does not leave this room, and I hope what I share is treated with the same respect. I understand you are risking everything by being here. I am willing to do the same."


	89. Chapter 89

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ****Possible triggers*****  
> This chapter describes some pieces of what happened to Sherlock while he was away. He finally admits to himself and to John what had happened to him in Greece.
> 
> The beginning of Sherlock's recovery, and a new case that will test John and his feelings for his flatmate.
> 
> A hard chapter, angst with very little light.

"As an act of good faith, I will begin. 

I assume you know who I am, that I have recently returned as they like to repeat ad nauseam in the yellow press, "from the dead." Which of course is false, I just faked my death so I could take apart the most complicated crime syndicate that has ever existed. Your American Mafia is nothing compared to what I took down basically single handed.

In the course of my work, I was tortured many times, sometimes for weeks, and in Greece, I was held captive and raped by a gang of women, amazingly brutal and acrobatic examples of your gender, every day at precisely 8 am and 8 pm for a month. After a while, it was simply a way to tell time, not necessarily whether it was day or night, but I knew it was 8 o'clock. I was able to eventually gain the trust of one of the gang and after the month, she helped me to escape."

John buried his face in his hands, and tried to recover his composure. "Oh god, Sherlock."

Anna stood up carefully, not wanting to spook him and knelt before him. "Sherlock. Breathe. Look at me. Please. I'm not going to touch you. I'm just going to sit here."

Sherlock finally opened his eyes and blew out the breath he'd been holding, and unclenched his fists. "I've never said that aloud before, even to myself," he whispered as tears flowed over his cheekbones. "I had been uhm...hmmmm...a virgin before Greece in every way...no one had ever touched me there before."

John wanted to take a walk, make tea, hit a wall, kill something, but he was rooted to the spot, could not stop listening to the words that were coming from his best friend's mouth. Through hiccups and sniffles Sherlock finally let it all out, all the anger, fears, desperation he had felt and still had nightmares about every single night. It took this odd woman with magenta and aqua hair, tattoos wrapping both arms and hands with blunt nails covered in paint to get through to the most closed up man he'd ever known. He wasn't sure what would happen now that it was out, if Sherlock could survive the idea that John knew, and possibly Mycroft if his ears were on today. 

The torrent of words finally stopped and Anna asked Sherlock softly, "can I touch your hand, Sherlock?" Sherlock looked at her and found something in her eyes, a kinship, an understanding and he nodded softly. She reached up and held her hand out to him, and he held on to it with both hands. 

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock," Anna whispered. "So very sorry."

He bent his head down and began to openly sob, quietly at first, then loud, messy, angry gasps of sheer pain. He let go of Anna's hand and melted on to the floor, and curled into himself, barely breathing. 

"Anna?" John moaned. "What can I do?"

"Go to him, John and let him know you are there in whatever way works. This is going to take time. You know that, from what I know of you from the blog. It could take a very long time."

John slipped to the floor next to Sherlock and wrapped around him. Sherlock tensed at first, almost in fight mode, then realized it was John and calmed immediately.

"John?"

"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

"I need you."

"I know."


	90. Chapter 90

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a brief 'appearance' by Big Brother...John lies to Greg...Hamish comes into play...Anna and John watch Dr. Who.

"John - Anything I can do?" - MH

"No. Please let me handle this?" - JW

"I have resources." - MH

"No. Please, I'm begging you, stay out of it. Let me help him." - JW

"If you need anything?" - MH

"Please turn off the audio?" - JW

"Done." - MH

John had finally managed to get Sherlock to sleep in his room, when Greg texted:

"Did she show yet?" - GL

"Not a peep, Sherlock thought it may take some time. Will let you know ASAP." - JW

John hated lying to Lestrade, but he needed Anna's help, and he was now indebted to her for helping break down that final wall that he couldn't tear down himself.

"Thanks, mate - Match tonight?" - GL

"Can't - Sherlock's in a" - JW

"Mood?" - GL

"Got it in one." - JW

"Next week, then?" - GL

"Yep." - JW

John turned off both phones and quietly left the room, leaving the door open and the hallway light on, just in case.

Anna was pacing in front of the mantelpiece. She was a mess of tension, slightly twitchy, whispering to herself, pulling on her ear.

"Anna?"

For a moment, it seemed she had forgotten where she was, as she looked at John blankly and paused before blinking and returning to the present.

"Sorry, John. I had no idea when I saw the ad about my specs. I never would have come here, had I known about his trauma; but I saw that dead spot in his eyes, when he addressed me and I knew. I just didn't know how bad it had been."

"No, I think this is the best thing that could have happened. I just lied to the DI running your case, I think I can buy you a couple of days, but you have to help me figure out how to help you and him. You were right, I do know about PTSD first hand, but I've never suffered what Sherlock and you have gone through. I need to know how I can help with your case, until Sherlock is able to continue. You can crash here, we'll say you are part of our Homeless Network if anyone asks."

Anna stopped chewing her lip and looked him over. It was unnerving how similar she was to Sherlock, it felt like she was analyzing him, and once again, he felt as stripped to the bone as he had with Sherlock.

"What's your middle name, John has too many...uhm..."

"Bad vibes?"

"Yeah-"

"Uhm, how about if you call me Doc? That's what they called me in Afghanistan."

"That bad, huh?"

"Hamish," he said under his breath.

"Huh?"

"Hamish," he blurted out. 

"Hamish was my cat's name, he was a right arse of a cat, but I loved him."

"Hamish it is, then."

Anna's face cracked into a grin, a cautious smirk that finally reached her remarkable green eyes. John blinked and cleared his throat. "Let's make you a bed out here, if he has nightmares you won't get much sleep in the other bedroom, and if it gets to be too much, we'll check with Mrs. Hudson and see if she can put you up." He saw her tighten back into herself, and tried to reassure her, "She's our landlady/not our housekeeper, she's used to oddness of any kind..not that you are odd, but-"

She laughed outright, "Nah, it's okay, Hamish, got it, she's cool with whatever crazy shit goes down around here, so I'd probably fit right in, huh?"

"Yeah, she's been through the ringer a few times with us."

They got clean-ish sheets and a pillow and she snuggled on the mushy couch. "Better than what I usually sleep on these days. Mind if I have the telly on? I think there is a new Dr. Who on tonight."

"Is there? Yeah, you're right, damn. Mind if I sit out here with you? On my chair, I'll just move it over, if it doesn't bother you?"

"It's fine, Hamish, I can't stand American telly, their writers are absolute shite, so I understand. I never miss the Dr."

The look on her face was priceless, reminding him of the look Sherlock had given him about the 'death frisbee': a mix of bewilderment and complete disgust and he laughed for the first time in days.


	91. Chapter 91

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mixed bag, heavy angst and a bit of what some may think kind of mystical-ish, but as a painter, I feel this connection between music and colour very deeply. I see Anna and Sherlock playing a duet that only they can truly hear and see completely.

"Hamissssh! Wake up! Sherlock needs you! Wake up!!"

"Whaaaa?" John started awake, he must've fallen asleep in his chair.

Anna is shaking his arm, and he can hear the screaming-"Damn!" He runs to Sherlock's room and sees his friend sitting up, completely unaware of where he is.

"Sherlock, you are in your own bed at Baker St, you are in London, you are safe, I'm here, it's John."

Sherlock is fighting his sheets, trying to untie ropes that aren't there. John sits on the bed in front of his unseeing friend and gently takes his hands.

"Sherlock, you are home, safe, home at Baker Street, I'm holding your hands, It's me, John. John, your friend. Please, Sherlock."

Slowly, Sherlock's breathing slows, and he closes his eyes, "John?"

"Yes, touch my face," John places Sherlock's fingers on his lips, so he can feel the vibrations when he speaks. "I'm here, you are home. Home at Baker Street. Home with me. Feel my pulse," he moves Sherlock's hand to his pulse point in his neck. "Do you feel it? I'm here, breathing here in front of you, please look at me."

Sherlock opens his eyes and sees John in front of him. "John. Oh, John. I don't know if I can do this. Everything is on repeat, over and over, just pain, John. Nothing but pain. I can't go back to sleep John. Anna is still here, right, you let her stay? Please, I need to see her."

"I'm right here. Next to you, I'm going to give you my hand, yeah?" She reaches out for him and he holds on tight. "There is a Harry Potter marathon, are you a Potterhead, Sherlock?" Sherlock shakes his head, puzzled. "Must've deleted it."

"Then you are in for a treat, my friend, Hamish, you guys got popcorn?" John nods. Anna grabs Sherlock by both hands and leads him to the loo. "Go ahead, Sherlock, it's safe. I promise, I won't let anyone hurt you. You can shut the door, I'll be right here, yeah? If you need to have the door open, that's ok, too. I won't peek." Sherlock hesitates then finally lets go of her hands and almost closes the door all the way, but not quite. He needs to hear her breathe outside the door, needs to know she is there, not part of his Mind Palace that has gone offline.

"He needs to eat something, uhm, something comforting, like Italian? Something he likes when he's under the weather?"

John has Angelo on speed dial and orders three specials, which will be at Baker Street in less than ten minutes.

Sherlock emerges from the loo appearing to be more himself than he has been all day. He smiles at Anna uncertainly. "The specs, they are yours, right? You work in oil, uhm...don't tell me. You love Kandinsky, you feel the music in colour as he did, you are trying to get your hands to match the music in your head, there are days when the headaches are too much, but those are your best painting days, aren't they?"

Anna's green eyes suddenly turn ice blue and she stammers, "Hhhhow didddd you know? No one understands what I'm trying to-" She grabs his face in both hands, and sees the colours in his eyes. "Sherlock, do you play violin? Please tell me you play the violin." 

"Why?"

"I hear strings when you speak, in my head, warm, glowing, golden strings vibrate in my head when I'm near you."

Sherlock walks over to his case and removes his Strad, tunes it slightly and plays a soft lullaby for Anna. "Oh God- that's the music, that is what I've been hearing, I, uhm, shit, this is gonna sound weird, but uhm, I need paint and a canvas, or a wall? And mmm brushes, left all my supplies after-?"

John thinks for a minute, "remember Mrs. Hudson did that Paint and Sip a while back and got hooked? She may still have it around, back in a flash."

Anna looks up at Sherlock and without saying a word asks him to play it again, he does, over and over until they are both swaying, eyes locked on eyes, breathing in time, completely in tune with each other.

John lugs in a giant tool case, filled with every brush, tool and oil; every colour anyone has ever seen is about to explode out of the box. "She doesn't have a canvas, but she said a mural would brighten up the place." 

"Damn! You weren't kidding were you, about her not minding-"

"Bedroom wall?" Anna looks at Sherlock and he nods.

Dinner arrives, the scents of lasagne and garlic fill the air, as Anna sets her palette in rich golds and the exact colour of Sherlock's eggplant shirt. Sherlock manages to eat a few bites of garlic bread and a couple of lasagne noodles, before he picks up the tune again. The Harry Potter marathon can wait, as Anna takes a deep breath and feels the music move through her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chromesthesia


	92. Chapter 92

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna's confession

John had crashed on Sherlock's bed as he watched Anna begin the painting and the lullaby gradually relaxed his thoughts enough to allow him to sleep. Eventually, Anna's eyes tired and her hands were cramping, so she carefully cleaned the borrowed brushes and allowed them to soak.

"Aren't your arms and fingers worn out," she whispered as Sherlock played the lullaby through one last time, then silently placed the instrument back into its case. He shook his head. "I was away from my music for two years, what would you do if you couldn't paint for two years, then suddenly you could paint again? I couldn't even play when I got home for months because those bitches broke my fingers, wasn't sure if I'd ever play again."

Anna sat on the floor and leaned against the bed. "I killed him." She whispered, her eyes looking into Sherlock's, but not seeing him.

"I know." Sherlock reached for her hand and she gave it, he led her to the couch and sat her down, then began to pace, as he used his bow in a mock fencing battle with an unknown opponent. "But it was not pre-meditated, not an accident, but you were stuck in a flashback, you believed you were defending yourself. You'd had coffee a couple of times, then you got up the courage to ask him to dinner. You were going to tell him about your past, see if he could deal with loving someone so damaged-date went well until you left the restaurant and he put his arm around you and his hand landed on your hip. The touch triggered a flashback and you panicked, for some reason one of your palette knives was in your pocket, a new one, razor sharp and you-"

"Yes. The look on his face as he went down. He reached up to my face and somehow grabbed my specs, I just ran, I called and left a tip about a stabbing, but he bled out too soon-I watched them work on him, from across the street, but couldn't see much-"

"Did you tell anyone you were dating him?"

"No one to tell, been living rough the past year, since I ran out of money, I'm here on scholarship at the RCA, but the funding dried up and my 'father'-"

"Do you still have the palette knife?"

"Yeah, it's right here." She puts her hand into her jacket pocket and pulls out a delicate tool, coated in dried blood. "Doesn't look deadly, does it? But it did the job."

"So, the only link to his death is your pair of spectacles."

"Far as I know. But, Sherlock, I don't want to get away with it. I killed him, I deserve whatever punishment they throw at me. My hands took a life, and I really liked him, as much as I can like a man, I was willing to try to trust him and -"

Sherlock stopped her. "The hands that played you the lullaby that you painted from, have taken over 30 lives. If I hadn't killed them, they would have killed me. I killed to survive. You believed your life was in danger. It is a tragedy that your past made your mind create an illusion that resulted in his death, but do not blame your hands, they took a life yes, but right now, those same hands are saving mine."


	93. Chapter 93

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> since scrub456 treated us to a bit of Christmas fluff, here is a super dose of angst and first appearance of Captain Watson.

Anna stood on shaky legs and put a hand out to stop his manic pacing. "I'll be alright. I don't matter to anyone, no one will care if one more homeless freak-"

Sherlock scowled at her use of the word, and threw the bow across the room. He had three others and that particular one didn't feel right to him anyway. "Never. Ever. Say that word again, about anyone, but especially yourself. Do you hear me?" She immediately sat down and pulled on her earlobe and began rocking herself.

"Damn, oh, Anna. Shit. I'm so so sorry-"

At that moment, John appeared in the doorway with bad news. "Sherlock, they've id'd Anna from CCTV. It's clear he touched her and she stabbed him and ran. Lestrade is pissed as hell, and on his way here-"

"WTF, Sherlock, what did you do to Anna?" Anna was in a full flashback triggered seizure on the couch. Sherlock collapsed next to her on the floor.

"Sh-e called herself a homeless freee-ak, and I lost it. What have I done, John?" Sherlock closed his eyes and began shaking.

"Well, I think you may have given her a medical reason why she can't stand trial or wait in a jail cell."

Lestrade banged through the door, and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Sherlock on the floor, his suspect completely just gone and John Watson in full "Captain Watson" mode.

"Lestrade, you do not want this on the front page of the Daily Mirror. If you try to take these two out in cuffs, you will have to go through me." 

"John, don't, please don't- damn."

John had pulled out his slightly illegal Browning and with a look told Lestrade to "get a fucking warrant before you cross that threshold again." Lestrade knew that there no lengths John would not go in order to protect Sherlock. He sighed and shook his head. "John, please, it looks like it was self-defense, she could get a slap on the wrist-"

"Go, now. You have no idea what is going on here, please, please just go. You can't help right now. No one can."


	94. Chapter 94

Mycroft stood at his window and watched the snow fall. He felt more than heard the presence of another individual.

He took a deep pull on his cigarette, the one he allowed himself at Christmas. "So. What are you prepared to do to help your daughter and my brother?"

"Anything."

"She will most likely get a suspended sentence, due to her fragile mental state and a good lawyer may get no time. Sherlock could stand trial for knowledge after the fact, and it seems he would do and say anything to save her, they apparently have a 'bond.'" Mycroft rolled his eyes and looked at the cigarette in his hand in disgust. "However, the press will inevitably discover the last time you and my brother crossed paths. You both sacrificed a bit of truth for each other, I believe?"

She nodded. "It doesn't matter what happens to me, I'm a dead woman walking, 2 months at the most, they 'assure' me. I owe your brother that much, I have written Annabell Lee a letter, which should answer enough of her questions. She doesn't deserve this, and I know from my own sources that your brother needs her very much. He tends to fall very hard and very quickly, but for all of his Holmes genes, he appears to have good instincts about people."

"When?"

"An hour or two at the most, I've had my people 'take care' of the CCTV footage, it has been doctored enough and there is no other link to my daughter. If she attempts to confess, the letter will make her out to be delusional. I already delivered a separate letter to Lestrade, he was most understanding last time as well. And I will go home now and die in my bed, which is more than I deserve."

"I am sorry we were not able to prevent your husband's suicide, we just ran out of time and family considerations arose."

"Yes, for some people, family makes them stronger, for others, like you and I, they put us in precarious positions, sacrifice our loved ones for 'justice' or 'the greater good' or..."

"Quite." Mycroft turned and gasped at his visitor, the once powerful and elegant Lady Smallwood was a fraction of the woman from a few months ago. "I am sorry, and I am deeply grate-"

"Yes." She nodded and left his library, and Mycroft lighted an extra cigarette, and resumed staring out the window at the blizzard now engulfing London.


	95. Chapter 95

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning for language, Lestrade is really, truly brassed off this time.

Lestrade walked into his office and slammed the door in Donovan's face. He couldn't deal with her right now. He sat in his chair and put his head on his desk, trying to get rid of the images he had just encountered at Baker Street. John was more despairing than angry, he'd never seen John look so helpless to help his friend who had collapsed, next to a young woman who had completely shut down. To make things worse, his warrant request had been denied, the CCTV images had been hijacked and manipulated just enough as to be completely useless, and he had a message to contact 'Big Brother'....

"Buggering FUCK!" He picked up his '#1 Dad' mug and threw it at the wall, it shattered and he felt a tiny bit better. What he needed was a drink or two, but it was only 4 pm, he should be at his kids' Christmas play, it was the only time he could see them this year as his ex was being a-

"Mr. Holmes, Line 1, Boss. He sounds pissed off."

"You tell that bureaucratic wanker to come to my office if he wants to talk to me. I'm not his errand boy."

"Bureaucratic wanker, hmmm, original if a bit redundant." Mycroft leaned against the door frame, looking polished and calm for someone whose brother was suffering so much from something so painful that even his genius brain couldn't cope.

"What do you want, Holmes? Your brother and his best friend are knee deep in this stabbing and there is something else going on that no one is cluing me into. Ever since that Milverton case-"

Mycroft barely twitched, but it was enough for Lestrade to read it-

"Ahhhh, it is something connected to that, and a certain Lady..."

"Boss? You got a letter from Lady Smallwood, hand delivered by her, about ten minutes ago, she didn't look well."

"Bloody hell. Where is it, Sally?"

"Uhm, on your chair?" 

"Damn- sorry Sally, not your fault, not a good day, and I have the feeling it will get worse before-damndamndamn- you knew all about this, you helped her do this- Myc! Damnit, your brother has been in real pain since he's returned, he's still brilliant, but something inside him may as well be dead, his eyes are all wrong."

"I've been asked not to interfere, and I am respecting their wishes, Greg, believe me, I want to get him into a program-"

"Not drugs again?"

"No, he was-no, it isn't my place to divulge his secrets, let's just say he suffered multiple traumas, and I believe if he is taken forcibly from Baker Street, it will end badly. For all involved. I just need Lady Smallwood's wishes respected, Sherlock and Anna have a connection, well, let's say a deep bond from their suffering, and John is simply trying to hang on. It will take time, but I believe they will heal if given the chance. Now, I believe you may want to send paramedics to the Smallwood residence, she signed a DNR and put me in charge of her care, as she did not want her daughter to have to deal with end of life issues. Shall we go?"


	96. Chapter 96

John let out a breath as Lestrade shook his head sadly and went back down the steps, he heard him mumble something to Donovan, then the screech of tires let him know they were alone for the time being.

He moved the coffee table so he could get closer to Sherlock and Anna without disturbing them any further. 

"John?" Sherlock whimpered. 

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"You've known, at least suspected what happened to me before yesterday, and yet you stayed with me."

"Yes."

Sherlock sat up, and ruffled his hair, and sniffed, then smirked. "I'm so bloody tired, John."

"I know."

"I need to stay out here for Anna, can you grab me my violin, please?"

"Sure, be right back."

Sherlock got to his feet and found one of his spare bows, under a stack of unfinished crosswords. "Oh, John, you never give up on anything-"

"No, I don't."

John brought in the case and placed it on the desk.

"On our first case together, you tried so hard to be normal, or maybe average is the word I'm looking for. You were kind, no really, you were, you knew I was broken, and yet, you forced me to look at myself as a person, not as my limitations. I was not the trauma I suffered. I was not my limp or my scars or my nightmares. You gave me back to me."

"So...you are here because you owe me?"

"No, you arse, I'm here because I love you."

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. John sighed and pinched his nose. "I love you in a way I don't understand, maybe I never will. It's not about sex, it's that you are my family, we've always tried our best to take care of each other, sometimes in ways that seem a bit, uhm..."

"Irrational, illogical and slightly insane?"

"All good words, yeah, but I'm here because you are essentially my other half, my brighter, slightly taller, more selfless half."

"I, uhm, love you too, always have."

"I know. Do you want tea?"

Sherlock looked at John and they both started to laugh, perhaps it was from relief, or nerves, mostly they laughed because they really did want their tea.


	97. Chapter 97

By the time Mycroft, Lestrade and Donovan reached the Smallwood estate, the paramedics were loading a sheet covered stretcher into the ambulance.

"Shit." Lestrade grumbled as he shook his head. "Let me guess, there will be a suicide note/confession that she's the one who stabbed the poor bloke, and that Anna had nothing to do with it..."

"I do appreciate your position, Detective Inspector..."

"No. I don't think you do. I knew the Milverton scene was fishy, it stunk. It's possible he committed suicide, but I believe he was helped to make that decision...I know Lady Smallwood had been there that night, not to mention your brother and his three ring circus...but Milverton was dirty and brilliant, I could never arrest him for anything, so it didn't bother my conscience to let that one go. But this-this could have been done by the book, Anna and Sherlock could have been helped by going through regular channels...I know, I know-"

"Lestrade, the press would have eaten the three of them alive. You know how fragile Sherlock has been since he has been back, this case has broken him wide open, he has no defenses left, and the only people that can possibly help him are John and a homeless artist who happens to be the late Lady Smallwood's illegitimate daughter."

"Figures." Lestrade starts laughing, then shakes his head. "You just don't know what it was like at Baker Street today...haven't seen John like that since the night...damn...just get the paperwork done on this one for me, Myc and I'll sign off on it, don't like it, but I know you are right." He rubs his face and gives his keys to Donovan. "Get me outta here, Sally."

"Sir."


	98. Chapter 98

When Anna came back to herself, she was on the couch, covered in a warm, well-worn quilt, and Sherlock was standing the window.

"I apologize. I wasn't angry at you, Anna."

"I know."

Sherlock turned and walked over to the couch, kneeling in front of her, but not touching her.

"You're safe. Everything is taken care of."

"How? What did you do?"

"Nothing, it was taken out of my hands, by the powers that be. You must be starving, there is lasagne-"

"Tell me."

"Eat first and I'll tell you a story, and see how we do-"

"Sherlock-"

He shook his head, "I won't lie to you, you have the right to know, but we are both, let's be honest here, on the edge of losing ourselves completely, so we go slow, yeah? Food, story, maybe some Harry Potter? Trust me, please?"

She took a deep breath and nodded. "I do trust you, I'm just scared-"

"I know, but you aren't alone anymore Anna... John, sorry, 'Hamish', Mrs. Hudson and I have talked and we want to offer you a home here, but take your time..."

Anna looked at him in astonishment with tears in her eyes and shook her head. "You don't know me, I'm dangerous, I could hurt you, like..."

Sherlock took her hands in his. "I trust you. You don't have to decide right now, just think about it? Yeah?"

She nodded, then grinned slightly. "Before anything else happens, I need the loo."

Sherlock laughs, stands up slowly and helps her to her feet. "And I am truly sorry for lashing out at you, 'freak' is just a word we don't say here. Yeah?"

"Got it. Back in a flash."


	99. Chapter 99

An hour earlier:

"Need to talk, no warrants, no arrests, just talk?" - GL

"Greg-" - JW

"Ten minutes, that's all I need." - GL

"Come on up, better be good" - JW

 

John opened the door to Lestrade, who looked like hell slightly burnt to a crisp.

"You look like hell-"

"Yeah, taken a look in a mirror lately, mate?"

"Fair enough. Kitchen? Beer?"

"Scotch if you got it?"

"That bad, huh?" John poured them each a double, and they sat at the table.

"Before I give these letters to you, I need to let you know that both Anna and Sherlock are safe, there are no charges, investigation is closed. End of story, officially."

"Unofficially?"

"I ignored certain things regarding the Milverton case-"

John's head snapped up.

"Don't tell me, I really don't want to know. You people left enough forensics that even Anderson could have nailed at least three or four of you, not the point-"

"What is the point?"

"Point is, I just left the Smallwood estate. Lady Smallwood took enough morphine to kill a dozen elephants and she left a few notes. One for Sherlock, one for 'the authorities', and the last for her daughter, Annabell Lee."

"Are you kidding?"

"Fuck, John, do I look like I've been laughing a lot tonight?"

"Damn, Greg, I'm sorry. About earlier-"

"Forgotten, yeah? Just take care of them, and yourself too, maybe a pint next week?"

"You got it, first couple rounds on me, mate."


	100. Chapter 100

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Smallwood's letter to Sherlock

Dear Mr. Holmes-

By the time you read this, I will be dead. I owe you an explanation, yes, I owe you that much.

About twenty years ago, my marriage was a joke, had been a joke for years, but I carried on, as we do, until the last affair which finally broke me. I left for the States, never intending to return. I applied for an associate professorship at Harvard, for the sheer audacity of it, used my maiden name, so very few knew my true identity...to make a long story short, I was happier than I ever imagined possible. I loved teaching, loved America, and one American in particular, a younger professor who swept me off my feet...naturally, I got pregnant, in my forties, if you can believe it. I couldn't not have her, I was in love, I was free, and I wanted my daughter. Of course, it all went to hell, eventually I had to tell my lover who I was, that I was married to a Lord, was worth millions of pounds...I had Annabell Lee, and he told me he never wanted to see me again. He told me he would never tell her about me, would never ask for anything from me...I returned home, 'forgave' my arse of a husband and tried to forget her.

I didn't see her again until I went to an opening night of an RCA show, saw her work, and met her. She has enough of her father in her, that I nearly cried in front of her to beg her forgiveness. Instead, I invited her to paint a mural at the estate. It's remarkable. You should have her take you to see it, if the courts allow her to inherit, I did leave everything to her. Of course Milverton put the pieces together. He noticed us at a friend's art opening, and saw a resemblance, as someone of his ilk would, he had already taken my husband from me, crap one though he was, he had been mine. I was not going to let him touch one hair on my daughter's head. I made an appointment to meet with him, to 'pay' him to keep my secret safe, and as you well know, dead men don't speak. I did not pull the trigger, but made him understand that a bullet to the head would be less painful than what I had in mind for him. So, you may consider me morally responsible for his death if not in actuality.

I have confessed to the murder of the unfortunate young man, there will be no trials, no press banging down your door again. Please just find a way to help Annabell, she is remarkable, as I think you already know. She is a healer, not a killer, please help her find a way to forgive herself.

 

Lady Elizabeth Smallwood

 

Sherlock read and reread the letter, then burned it. He looked over at Anna, now sleeping at least, no longer stuck in her flashback, and sighed. 

"How do I tell her?"

"Perhaps she already guessed? Anna has a sense about people, maybe she knew, but didn't want to ask?"

Sherlock shrugged and stood at the window, watching the snow pile into drifts and waited for Anna to wake up.


	101. Chapter 101

The lasagne and a beer were waiting on the kitchen table for her, when Anna returned. Sherlock nodded for her to have a seat, "Please, eat, it's been a while since the last time you ate, and it's really quite good."

"Story? You promised a story-"

"Once upon a time-"

"Really?"

"I'm telling it my way, tell me to stop when it's too much."

Anna nodded and kept eating, it really was fabulous.

"Once upon a time, there was a Lady, who had an estate and a Lord, but she didn't love him anymore, hadn't for a very long time, so left him and went to the States, to start over. She thought she had, she was happy, she was going to have a little girl with her new prince charming, but, he got angry and she had to leave-"

"No."

"She left you a letter, Anna, she loved you very much."

"Please, no."

"Anna."

"Sherlock, I knew, I knew when I was painting the mural, she let me live there while I was working on it, we talked, she understood so much, she asked me to stay when it was finished, to do more work, but I couldn't, it felt too much like charity. One night, I just packed up and left, I didn't say goodbye to her. Oh, shit."

"You need to read the letter."

"Have you read it?"

"It's addressed to you, why would I read it?"

"Will you, read it, to me please?"

"Are you sure?"

"Please, I don't think I can look at her writing right now."

Sherlock nodded, and opened the envelope carefully.

 

"My dear Annabell Lee-

When you read this, I will be dead. I'm so sorry, I wish we had a little more time, but the doctors tell me I'm just about out of luck, it would have been another two months at the most, more pointless exams, treatments, and awful hospital food, so in the end I am choosing how I leave this world, on my own terms.

I loved your father very much, and I wanted to be there to see you grow up, but he was angry that I lied to him, and I understood that, believe me. So, I did what I thought was best for you and your father and I returned to my husband. There was not a single day that I did not regret that decision. I wrote you letters, bought you presents, but never had the guts to mail them. You are a much braver soul than I. Even when you came to live with me, while you painted the mural, I couldn't tell you, I was afraid to lose you again, so I was content with watching you paint, sharing meals with you, just being with you was remarkable. I know something awful happened to you in your life, you wouldn't tell me, but you still manage to walk on this planet with music in your heart, magic in your fingers, and hope, I believe. Hope is a powerful thing my dear.

I am taking the blame for the death of your friend, I saw the CCTV footage, I know what happened, I had seen that look in your eyes when people would try to touch you, you would go somewhere else for a split second, then return usually. That one time, your mind went into overdrive, and you lashed out. You feel responsible, you feel that one act negates everything you are or will ever become. It doesn't have to. The CCTV footage is no longer useful to the police, there is no other evidence, save for the spectacles I gave you, and which Mr. Holmes has returned to you. I have asked him to help you in whatever way he can to go on in a way that will allow you to make peace with yourself. He too has spent way too much time blaming himself for things beyond his control. Perhaps you are already helping each other? I hope so.

Please know that my only regret in my life is not taking you with me when I left the States, but I felt I had no choice. Tonight, my heart is lighter than it has been in years. I love you, so very much, my dear, sweet Annabell.

-Mum


	102. Chapter 102

"Sherlock?"

"Mmmm?"

"What am I supposed to do now? What do I do with this? I'm free, right, I can just leave this flat this minute, and disappear? I'm under no obligation to stay here, right? "

"Right."

"Right. Right. Good. Do you want me to leave?"

"I've already offered you a home here, but there are no strings. You are free to leave if that is your choice."

"Do YOU want me to leave?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want me to stay?"

"Mostly for selfish reasons. But also because you need a family, and as crazy as we are, you already want to adopt us."

"Adopt YOU????"

"You may have noticed that we are not the most adulty adults you have come across in your travels. Yes?"

At this, she laughs, truly laughs for the first time since he met her two days ago, and it is glorious.

"Yeah, you guys uhm are different," as she wipes her eyes and blinks at him, from behind her mother's gold spectacles. "Tell you what, let me get washed up, and the two of us can go for a walk?

"Just one question, how the hell did you get him to tell you his middle name, and let you call him by it?" 

"John is my father's name. I hate my father, so I couldn't call Hamish by that name."

"I'm sorry, Anna."

"Shower, then walk and coffee? I have no idea what time it is."

"7 am, day after Christmas."

"Well, at least this is one Christmas I won't forget, huh?"

"Me either, Anna, me either."


	103. Chapter 103

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a few 'conversations'

"John, Anna and I are headed out for a walk." - SH

"Are you - never mind. Just be- never mind. - JW

"Yes, and we will. I love you, too." - SH

"Git." - JW

"Arse." - SH

 

"We are fine" - SH

"I know." - MH

"Thank you" - SH

"Pleasure." - MH

 

"Sorry. Again." - SH

"It's only 7:15, Sherlock." - GL

"I know. Can I bring you a coffee? or Molly's #? " - SH

"Apology accepted, black and I already know it, arse." - GL

 

"Want you to meet someone." - SH

"Oh?" - VS

"She's a recent client, brilliant artist" - SH

"Bring her over, can't wait." - VS


	104. Chapter 104

"Anna, are you sure this okay? I can have Vi come to Baker Street instead, if you feel uncomfortable."

"No, I'm good, you'll be there, right?"

"Right."

They had been holding hands since they left the flat, each needing to be grounded, reminded where and when they were, as if they were helium balloons that may drift if not tethered to something.

"Okay, here we are."

"Lock! How are y- Oh, shit, what happened? Come in, come in! It's cold." Vi looked Anna over and saw everything most people couldn't see, or chose not to. "I'm Vi, 'Lock's sister, please, make yourself at home."

Sherlock helped Anna out of her coat, then took her hand again and led her to the couch. "I'm just going to hang up my coat, Vi likes it tropical in here. I'll be right back, yeah?" Anna nodded and offered him a small smile, "I'm okay."

He nodded and went to hang up his coat and scarf, then returned and sat next to Anna, gently offering her his hand. She shook her head. "It's okay, Sherlock."

"Vi-you got anything to eat, I'm starving!"

"Hmm...let me see what I got, I was just making tea, I have those choc biscuits you love, yeah?"

"Perfect."

Vi came into the sitting room with a tray and handed Sherlock a mug, which he placed in Anna's slightly shaky hands, then grabbed a biscuit for himself.

"Anna is...was a client until last night. I think she may hang out at Baker Street for a bit, she's painting a mural in my bedroom, it's stunning so far-"

Vi glanced down at Anna's hands and nodded, "I've seen your work, Anna, it's brilliant, I feel the music in it, it's lyrical and has a sense of humour about itself...it's funny, my school is looking for a resident artist, we have a studio, it's a beautiful room-huge space, lovely light."

Anna's eyes popped. "Are you serious? Really? Could, uhm, I stay at Baker Street and work there, I, uhm, that is, if they offer me an interview?"

"The school is on Winter Holidays right now, we go back on the fourth, we can set something up then, how does that sound?"

"Wow, that just sounds awesome!" She took Sherlock's hand in hers and grinned at him. He nodded and smiled softly at her, as if to say, "it will work out, yeah? We will be fine."

"Vi, can you and Annie come for dinner in a couple of days? We'd love to have you, it seems like it's been forever."

"You betchya, 'Lock. Mum brought over some scrapbooks that John may find, uhm, amusing. "

"Noooo, not the 'scrapbooks' from the attic? I thought I had burned all of those..."

"Nope, she managed to keep a couple out of your clutches, and they are 'precious.' "

Anna grinned as Sherlock groaned.

"On that note...." Sherlock helped Anna to her feet, and nodded at Vi. "Don't want John getting worried, you know how he is..." 

Vi looked him in the eyes and asked silently, "what can I do, love?"

He shook his head. "Just need time, Vi. Yeah?" 

She nodded, and touched his nose lightly,"I'm here. Always." 

"I know." He smiled sadly and held Anna's hand as they went to put on their coats. "Friday, 8ish, yeah?"

"We'll be there."


	105. Chapter 105

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yes, of course, "Big Brother" has to make another appearance...

Sherlock and Anna return to Baker Street, in good spirits, after Vi's, they go to Angelo's for more lasagne and a tiramisu, then stop at Anna's locker at the train station to collect the few belongings she had stashed there.

Sherlock is telling her a story about a case when he stops abruptly, noticing the door knocker has been straightened.

"Damn. Damn. Damn. Hell and blast."

Anna looks at him, her hand tightens in his. "Sherlock?"

He calms his breathing for her benefit. "It's okay, just my overbearing, busybody brother. He always straightens the knocker..."

"Anna, look at me, you are ok, it will be fine. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, or take you away, understand me?" He carefully places a single gloved hand under her chin and looks in her green eyes that are doubtful. "Please, tell me you believe me? I swear, nothing will happen to you here. You are safe."

"I believe you," she whispers. "I don't know why, but for the first time in my life, I believe in someone and it happens to be someone who is just as effed up as I am. Birds of a feather, huh?"

Sherlock nods, then grabs her hand and steels himself for a meeting with his brother.


	106. Chapter 106

It takes everything he has not to throw his brother out of his flat, 'their' flat, but he takes a deep breath and quietly opens the door. He sees John and Mycroft staring each other down, neither saying a word, but the intense feelings crackle in the air.

"Mycroft? How lovely of you to bless us with your presence. This is Anna. You've seen her, you've seen me, now, you may leave."

"How hostile we all are. Anna, how nice to see you safe and in good hands, so to speak."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. He is about to speak when Anna puts a finger to his lips, and shakes her head.

"Mr. Holmes, I'm aware of your role in the cover up, and in my mother's death, I'm sure she did not act purely on her own. No-let me finish. I do know from my brief relationship with her how intensely strong-minded and stubborn she could be. I have made my peace with her decision already, as she would have wished. As you have rightly deduced, your brother is important to me, as I am to him. My decision is to accept their kind invitation to stay here at Baker Street, and hopefully, somehow, we will all find a way to heal some of our past hurts together as a family. Hamish and Sherlock have become my family in the short time we have known each other, and I hope you will respect our wishes and support our desire for a bit of privacy. I do see the cameras and I know there is audio equipment here, I do hope you will see to it to make sure they are no longer functioning, within the hour perhaps. Or..."

"Or?"

"I do have contacts within the media that could make life a bit more interesting than you could possibly wish for. Am I clear?"

"You are indeed your mother's daughter, my dear. Consider it done. 'Hamish' and Sherlock, it appears you have your hands full."

John glared at him and stood to open the door, then slammed it as Mycroft departed. Sherlock sat down on the couch, letting out the breath he had been holding. He looked at his hands and felt them shake. "Damn it. Why can't I just get past this." He rubbed his eyes as if trying to erase the visions that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. 

Anna sat on the floor and laid her head on his knee. "Some day, it will get better, it won't always be there as bright or as deep, I promise. You did the hardest part, admitting what was done to you, and we are here to hold you when you need it, and to let you scream when you can't keep it in anymore. You are not alone."

Sherlock opened his eyes, red and exhausted from lack of sleep, and whispered, "thank you."

Anna stood and offered him her hand. He took it, and let her lead him to his bedroom. She helped him take off his shoes and socks and turned the lamp on. "Get changed and I'll read to you until you sleep. Yeah?"

He nodded as she left the room and quickly changed. He slid under his duvet and closed his eyes. She knocked and he whispered, "Come." She pulled a chair up next to his side of the bed and opened a beaten copy of A Tale of Two Cities. "My favourite book, hope you don't mind?"

He shook his head and closed his eyes.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair…"

She laid her hand in his curls, not moving her fingers, simply letting him know she was there, and she felt his body relax and his breathing change into sleep. She kept reading until the book fell from her hand.

John looked in an hour later to see Anna's head resting on her arms, with Sherlock's hand nestled gently in her spiky hair. He shut the door softly and padded off down the hallway to make himself some more tea.


	107. Chapter 107

Sherlock is standing at the window when John rejoins the world of the barely awake in search of tea.

"Just made a fresh pot."

"Ta."

John sits on the couch with his tea and waits. 

"I was careless in Greece. It was the last bit, one last link and then I was done. You would've known something was off, but I was so tired and hungry..."

"You don't have to do this."

Sherlock shakes his head. "They were running a trafficking ring for Moriarty, cops were bought off, I had no back up, Myc had lost track of me in Serbia, I was able to get away before he showed up to 'save the day.' Basically I was screwed in every definition of the word. When I was able to escape, all I could think of was getting back here, but I was so ashamed. It took a couple of months to get back to London without getting caught, and I almost never came home, John. I was afraid once you knew..."

"What did you think I would do?" John asks in a whisper.

Sherlock shrugs. "When I came home that night, it was the first time someone had touched me since I left Greece. You were so gentle, and you always warned me before you were going to touch me, it was like you knew."

"There was something in your eyes, something besides the torture, that intense, arrogant...whatever it was you had before you left was shattered. And when I cleaned you that night, I knew. The nightmares told me most of it, and there are days when you disappear into your head, like you are trying to repair something that is broken-"

"I didn't think you would forgive me for being gone, or want me if you knew how damaged I was..."

"Come here, please?"

Sherlock turns and sees John's hand reaching out for him, and it's almost unbearable, the love coming from his eyes.

"Please?"

Sherlock makes his way to the couch and takes John's hand, falling to his knees in front of him. "How?"

"Look at me, Sherlock." John touches his face just enough to encourage him to look him in the eyes. "I am here, because I can't imagine being anywhere but at your side. Baker Street is just a building, you are my home. Have been since I met you. Some day, you won't question that, I will keep telling you until you get it. My heart belongs to you. End of story."

Sherlock shakes his head. "John."

John helps him up and onto the couch, and covers him as lays his head in John's lap. "Sleep, yeah?"

Three hours later, Anna tiptoes into the kitchen for her tea, then curls up in John's chair to watch her boys sleep, John's right hand resting lightly on Sherlock's shoulder, the other clasped tightly in Sherlock's hands.


	108. Chapter 108

Anna runs her hands through her hair, adding a few streaks of ochre and azo yellow to her collection of colours. She stands back and desperately wants a cigarette. She hopes it's the right time to show him what she's done. "Might as well get it over with." She rehangs the old sheet that has been keeping her work from prying eyes, she never lets people see her work until it is finished, this time is no exception. 

She walks into the kitchen and finds him staring into space. "It's finished." She takes his hand and leads him into the bedroom. "Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close them, please?"

"Alright. They are closed."

"No peeking."

"No peeking, I swear."

"Okay, now, you can look."

He opens his eyes and for a moment she's afraid something is wrong. "Damn, you hate-"

"No. NO. How could you think that? It's just breathtaking, Anna. I just need to sit down." He sits on the edge of the bed and wishes he could put himself in the painting somehow. In less than a week, Anna has painted a phoenix, in golds, scarlet and purples, soaring above a sketched out London in muted greys and sepia. 

"It's how I see you."

"Oh, Anna." 

John walks in and his breath catches. "Damn, Anna-it's stunning. How-?"

"You can't touch it yet, it will probably take a few weeks before it's dry, but-"

"Come here."

"I'm a mess, let me get cleaned up."

"Anna."

She sits in front of him as he takes her hands in his and simply looks at them for a moment in silence.

"You are remarkable, Anna. I am so sorry for whatever happened to you that allows you to understand me as you do, but I am so, so grateful that you are here with us. I thought I had gotten over the worst of it, thought I had deleted enough, but when you looked in my eyes, that first time, I knew-"

Anna is silent, has no snappy comeback, she has to look away from him. He drops her hands and gathers her into an awkward embrace. He feels her tense slightly, then she finds her breath and wraps her arms around him.

"You are home, Anna. As long as you want to be here, your place is with us."

John sits behind her and puts his arms softly around her. "You are home, love."

They would have sat like that for hours, except Anna sniffs and says, "I'm absolutely starving. Which one of you guys is going to take me to Angelo's so I can order one of everything?"

Slowly, they stand and a silent promise is shared between the three of them. Then the spell is broken when Anna yells, "Dibs on the first shower!"


	109. Chapter 109

"Are you sure it's okay if we come?" - VS

"He and Anna are making dinner as we type." - JW

"Can we bring anything?" - VS

"Just yourselves, try to treat him as you always have, he's still in there, he's just-" - JW

"Resting?" - VS

"Yeah, something like that-bring the dreaded 'scrapbooks,' that may help." - JW

"See you in a bit." - VS

 

John turned off his phone and watched them work side by side. Anna was telling Sherlock a story about life at Harvard as a child, how she had as a three year old sneaked out of the sitter's house and made her way to her father's office. When they found her, after hours of searching, she was calmly reading a book of poetry in her father's chair, eating his sandwich that he had packed for lunch-"That's when he put me in a full-time preschool, well, the first of many-"

Sherlock was laughing, imagining the scene as Anna described it, wondering what she looked like as a child; without the rainbow coloured spikes and the tattoos and what life had done to her. She was probably beautiful, he thought. He went back to stirring the sauce for the homemade pasta that Anna had made, a relic from a stint as a sous chef in one of those dives that specializes in one dish. He took a deep breath and took in the garlic and shallots and cheese, god, the cheese-

"That smells fabulous, 'Lock." Vi smiled as she entered the kitchen, Annie behind her.

"Hey, Vi. Annie! So good to see you."

"You must be Anna. Vi told me all about you- welcome to the family, you couldn't ask for two more amazing guys-"

"I know." Anna grinned. "I'm lucky to have landed here. Dinner's up, don't want it to get cold!"


	110. Chapter 110

"Sherlock- at Angelo's the other day, you had started telling me about the first case you and Hamish worked on together..."

John rolls his eyes and Vi claps her hands in delight, :"Yes, yes, do tell, 'Lock. I want to hear your side of how you two met. We all know John's version-"

"Come on, please, Sherlock," Anna pleads.

Sherlock looks at John as if asking permission and John shrugs his shoulders. 

"It was uhm...the 29th of January, 2010. I was fussing about in the lab, tidying up one of Lestrade's cases, when Stamford shows up with an old friend, just back from Afghanistan...who is looking for cheap accommodations...he lets me borrow his phone, and I, uhm, deduce him within an inch of his life, and instead of punching me or calling me a freak, he wants to know my name and where to meet me the following day."

"To look at this flat." Anna grins at them both from across the table. 

John nods, then shakes his head and touches Sherlock's hand that is slightly trembling on his glass. "He saved my life that day. He was the first one to see me, truly look at me and tell me I was worth something when I got home. Everyone else saw a man with a limp, he saw what I had been and what I could be."

"No, John."

"Yes. You knew. You knew how close I was to-"

"Scrapbooks? Baby snaps? Or, if I remember correctly, these are from the pirate phase?"

Sherlock shoots a grateful smile at Vi and squeezes John's hand. "I needed saving as much as you did, you know."

John clears his throat and looks Sherlock in the face. "I never thanked you for that."

"Yes, yes, you did-"

"No. I did what I did to save you from that arsehole cabbie, but I never thanked you for seeing me."

Annie jumps up, "Anna, Vi, dishes, can you help me, uhm-"

John is only aware of his friend next to him, not the commotion in the kitchen, or the winds howling outside. 

"John-"

"No, I-I'm not good at this, never have been. But, I always wanted to thank you and when you left, I felt like I lost that chance. I mean, I believed you were coming back, because I couldn't believe otherwise, but I always regretted not telling you, how much it meant that you believed in me. So, thank you, my friend."

Sherlock blinks and looks at John's hand, still holding on tightly to his own. "You have always made me feel like I was real, John, like I mattered somehow. No one else had ever done that for me before. You made me want to be better, I wanted to feel like I deserved to be by your side..." He shakes his head in wonderment. "...and here we are still."

John laughs and wraps his arms around his detective."You wanted to be a pirate too? I tried to build a ship in the backyard, but never had enough wood, and my crew was crap."

"Yeah, I was ready to set sail, but Mycroft told me they have child labour laws to stop that sort of thing, so I started studying chemistry. I did manage to blow a few things up, so I guess we are at a draw."

"Coffee?"

"Yeah, Lestrade sent a file over, wanted me to have a peek at it-"

"Sherlock-"

"No, it's fine, just some footballer who seems to have vanished-looks like it might keep me entertained for a few hours."

"Alright boys, scrapbook time!" Vi marches to the couch with a box, as Sherlock groans. 

"Oh Lord, not those-"

"Oh, yes!"

"These range from the pirate phase all through his ballet years-"

"No. Really?" John stifled a giggle.

"I was good. For a while-"

They all spent the evening laughing at Vi's awkward 4 year old princess stage, which lasted a few months, complete with sword, of course, as she battled Sherlock and Redbeard, while Mycroft sat back in the shadows, watching over them.


	111. Chapter 111

Sherlock, John and Annie are giggling over the last scrapbook, when Vi has had enough, "Anna, show me the mural, please?" Anna looks over at Sherlock and he nods. Anna takes Vi by the hand and takes her into the bedroom.

Vi stands speechless for a few minutes, walks up close to it, backs away, then up close again. "Damn. You've known him a week, now? And you know this already? You know his song."

Anna nods. "Feels like I've known him-"

"Forever."

"Yeah."

"Promise me, you won't hurt him? I-sorry, that sounds, hmmm, rude? But, I love him dearly, and I still broke his heart, I only knew I had to leave, I was young and afraid and I messed up. Please-"

Anna squeezes her hand. "I promise, Vi. I know he loves you, he's trying so hard to heal himself, not just for himself, but for you and Hamish. He wants so much to be whole, he's just so splintered right now."

"I know, his eyes aren't quite as gray anymore, when I saw him the first time in years, the colours were so grayed out, almost like they had faded away, but the sparkle is coming back, I think. He trusts you. I could see it when he brought you over the other day, he doesn't trust many people, but he has let you see him, hear him in a way that he hasn't ever, not even with John, sorry, Hamish. You hear the music all the time, don't you."

Anna nods. "I tried not to, especially before my case was over, I tried so hard not to hear it, but, when he played for me that first time, it felt like someone was answering my question, don't know if that makes sense?"

Vi nods. She whispers, "I know exactly what you mean, Anna."

"He wasn't whole even before he left, was he, Vi?"

Vi shakes her head. "No, but that's partly what makes him who he is, it's the cracks-"

"It's how the light gets in. Yeah, it's going to take time, Vi, but he will make it, he's so strong, I've never heard music that bright and golden before. Just be there, yeah?"

Vi looks at her and smiles, "You are an old soul, my dear, aren't you?"

Anna laughs, shaking her head. "There are days when it feels like I've been around for a million years, Vi, and very few of them good ones."

"He's a good listener, one of the best I know."

"I know, some day, but I'm not ready, I've never told anyone. Never trusted anyone that much before now, and it's a bit, hmmm. Overwhelming. He can see and hear so much already, he could probably tell me my story, but he's waiting for me to do it."

"He's grown up a lot then recently." Vi grins. "Not usually patient with anyone, but you are different. Thank you, for taking a chance, Anna."

"We should go see what they are up to, they are a little too quiet in there."

"Hmmm, yeah-"

They wander back into the sitting room to find Annie, John and Sherlock all leaning against each other fast asleep, the last book spread across their laps.

"Annie?" Vi shakes her wife gently, "love, it's time to go home."

"Hmmm? Oh, Vi. No, don't wake them up, Anna, they are so exhausted. Thank them for us, when they wake up, yeah? We will do this again soon?"

Somehow, Vi and Anna help extricate Annie from the couch and arrange the boys so they don't wake up with stiff necks.

Vi offers Anna her hand as they leave, and she takes it in both of her strong hands. "I promise, Vi."

Vi nods, "I know." And she helps Annie down the stairs and hails a cab for home.


	112. Chapter 112

Anna fell asleep in Sherlock's chair, as she sat re-reading A Tale of Two Cities. Sherlock started awake and tried to remember where he was. "Right, scrapbooks, Annie-they've gone." He looked over and saw Anna curled in his chair. She looked so tiny in the old cracked leather chair. He went to put a blanket over her and she blinked awake, "Hey, you okay? Nightmare?"

He shook his head. "Nope, just too quiet. I never get nightmares when he sleeps near me."

"You want to go back to bed? I can read if you like-"

"No, there's a case Lestrade wants me to look at, just a missing person, a footballer, left practice and hasn't been seen in days, they have a big match in a week, and they are clueless as usual. Just need to check something online. I'm assuming a romantic entanglement of some kind."

"Why?"

"People are driven mostly by money, fame or sex, not necessarily love, and not necessarily in that order. He has money and fame, so the third option is the most likely."

"People are that basic?"

"Most people are, I've found, simple creatures of habit and comfort, when either is disturbed enough, they will do things they normally would not.

"So what are you going to do?"

"Hmm? Oh, check the CCTV data from the date he left practice, and check the scandal sites, maybe there is a photo of him being indiscreet somewhere. He's famous enough that it's hard to lay low this long. And if nothing pops up, check for his name in passenger records."

"You get all that from Mycroft."

"No, most transportation security systems are weak. Once in a while I'll just do a bit of hacking-"

"You're a hacker too?"

"Basic math, and most companies don't believe people will bother hacking them, most companies have been hacked. I know, because I spent a lot of time hacking into them while I was away. Child's play."

She watches as his fingers fly across the keyboard and sees his eyes dance across the screen and hears the violins hum together, completely at peace. She breathes it in and falls back to sleep to the sound of the tapping of his fingers.


	113. Chapter 113

"Staunton in NYC. Partner wanted to see ball drop before he died." - SH

"How?" GL

"Found him at the hotel they were staying at, said partner died in hospice last night." - SH

"Thank you." - GL

"Assured him of no harassment on his return." - SH

"I don't-" - GL

"No laws were broken. Promises were made, Greg." -SH

"Alright. I'm sure I don't want to know how-" - GL

"The less said." - SH

"Naturally." - GL

 

Sherlock turned off his phone and rubbed his eyes. It had only taken three hours to find Staunton, it took him longer to convince him he could return in secrecy without a massive media circus awaiting his arrival home. Mycroft sighed and tut-tutted, but agreed to make arrangements.

At some point during the early morning, John had finally gone to bed and Anna was shivering in her sleep on the couch, tears rolling down her face, her hands tightly clenched.

He crouched down near her, and whispered, "Anna. You are safe. You are home. Anna." She stopped shaking, but the tears continued to fall. He stood up quietly and took out his violin and played her lullaby until she woke up on her own.

"Damn." She wiped her eyes and shook her head as if by shaking hard enough it would empty her head of the memories. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"You don't need to see-"

"What, that you are still in pain? You didn't think I knew that? Anna, look at me. You know who I am, right? Just because I am what people would consider broken, I still can observe, can still see what is in front of me. Never feel like you have to act like you are fine. I know, my god, I know you aren't."

He placed the violin in its case and laid the bow down. He approached her cautiously, and bent down in front of her. "You never, ever have to pretend with me."

"But-"

"No. You see Hamish as he is now, you think he's okay? He still has nightmares from Afghanistan, of when I left, of his childhood. We are all broken, Anna. We somehow fit our broken pieces together and we manage. You are allowed to let it go here. You don't have to hide when you feel like you want to stay in bed and not speak for days, we will understand and be here when you need us."

Anna looked at him and bit her lip. "No one ever has let me-"

"I know."

"I'm used to being alone."

"I know."

"Uhmmmm. I think I need a tissue and a new wall?"

"Tissues we got, wall? Hmmm... do you want to run to the shops with me and get your own supplies? Then you can do a piece in John's room, when he wakes up."

"I-"

"Anything you want, I haven't used Mycroft's credit card in a while."

She stifled a giggle and asked for a hug, which he gave, softly.

"Go get changed and we'll go, yeah?"

She sniffed and nodded. "Thank you-"

"For what?"

"For being who you are."

He snorts and laughs, "No one has ever thanked me for being me before. Go on-"

She kisses him lightly in the top of his head and skips to where she has thrown her coat and boots.

"Let's go spend a bunch of Mycroft's money."

"You got it."


	114. Chapter 114

John smiled in his sleep. "Hmmm...bacon and uhm coffee? Damn-I've overslept." He rubbed his face and groaned.

"Shh, you asked for a couple days off, remember?" Sherlock was standing in his doorway with a cup of coffee and a bacon roll. 

"Didn't know we had bacon or bread, and I know we used up the rest of the coffee last night-"

"Anna needed a few things, so we stopped at Tesco on our way back. She's quite the fry cook. I think I've had three of these."

John grins and nods as Sherlock hands him the plate and places the coffee on the table. "Wow, it smells amazing. How did you sleep?" He takes a bite and sighs.

"Just a couple hours, then found the footballer for Lestrade. No leg work necessary, just a bit of-"

"Nope. I'm sure I don't want to know, right?"

"Probably best," Sherlock smirked."Then Anna and I went and got her some art supplies and a couple of new outfits, and she remembered we were almost out of anything edible, so we did the shopping."

"She may make a decent flatmate out of you yet-Mycroft's footing the bill, yeah?"

"Obviously."

John finishes his sandwich and looks at Sherlock. "Sorry if I got too, hmmm, sentimental last night, just never feel like I tell you how important you are to me, and-"

"I know. I knew when I came back and you were here. Anyone else would've given up on me, but you didn't. You will never know how much that meant to me, I just wish-"

"What?"

"-that I came back in one piece, that it wasn't so hard on you."

"When were you ever easy?" John snorts and walks over to the doorway. "You are still you, just different, more human, maybe?"

Sherlock raises his head and nods, "I hope you know-"

"Yeah. I do."

"Good."

"Hamish! Another one?" Anna pops her head through the doorway, a smudge of grease on her nose.

"Ta, they are remarkable." 

"Okey-doke, be up in a sec."


	115. Chapter 115

John has showered and settled into his chair for a try at the Sunday puzzle, when Lestrade pops his head around the door.

"Buzzer?"

"Hmm, probably in the crisper next to the head-"

"Really?"

"-of lettuce. Anna is civilizing us somewhat, body parts have been moved to the freezer, well-marked."

"Sounds like you might get a decent flatmate between the two of them, eh?"

"What's up, a case for Sherlock?"

"Yeah, kinda, I got another one that feels wrong, think I know what happened, but not sure-"

"Got photos, or need him there? I'm not sure he's ready yet, but you could ask him-"

"Ask me what?" Sherlock pops out from his bedroom, his almost full grown out hair in a riot of colours-Anna had discovered he was dying his hair and suggested another route.

"Wow, that's uhm, different, Sherlock...got a case I'd like to run past you, if you have time to hear me out."

"The Brackenstall case?"

"Uh-hmmm. I can see two solutions, one which points to a gang of thieves who attacked Sir Eustace in a botched robbery, but it just feels wrong, money and jewelry were left behind, while silver that would have been too hot to sell was taken, the other solution seems to involve the lady of the house, appears she has been the victim of abuse at the hands of her husband for many years, and just snapped, but it seems like there is someone else involved who she is shielding, lover perhaps, friend, family member?"

"Basically, you are again being asked to look the other way again, or you fear that someone may ask you to, when you know, or feel it in your gut that something doesn't fit? Yes?"

Lestrade stands and walks to the window.

"Yeah-it's beginning to get a bit ridiculous. I didn't feel bad about Milverton, he was a scumbag, everyone knew it, but he had something on just about everyone-untouchable-I think he even had something on your brother-I didn't poke around enough to figure out what it was, sorry. Then that stabbing which should have been pleaded out, that blew up in my face- I don't blame you, circumstances, I know, no, I don't really know, but that doesn't matter-I'm just getting tired of having my hands tied behind my back-damn. Sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"I know you are dealing with bigger things in your life than my disenchantment with the powers that be, and I was just hoping for a fresh set of eyes to look it over. Look- is there anything I can do, I've known something hasn't been right since you've been back, but-"

"Let me get my coat-John, I'll be back in a couple of hours, let Anna know, not to worry, I'll be okay. Stay with her, yeah?"

Sherlock looks at John and sighs, "I need to see if I can do it. Trust me, okay? Lestrade will know if it's too much. Just stay with Anna, keep her safe? Please?"

John nods, knowing that to argue with him would be pointless. "Just text if you need anything, yeah?"

"Thank you." He flashes him a hint of a smile and follows Lestrade.


	116. Chapter 116

"I am sorry, Lestrade."

"Hmm-what?" Lestrade almost missed the traffic light change, as he looked over at Sherlock in the passenger seat, who was leaning against the window.

"Mycroft and Lady Smallwood, they went above our heads. Anna wanted to turn herself in, Mycroft knew I would risk perjuring myself if it ever came to trial...then there was the Milverton complication, and again, he knew I'd fall on my sword-Lady Smallwood would never have survived to serve time, cancer. When all was said and done, she was, however, technically, completely innocent of everything she took the blame for-I am sorry that you keep having to clean up my messes after all this time."

Lestrade sighs and shrugs. "I'm just glad you are still here to create disasters for me, the criminal classes were a bit tame while you were gone."

"I noticed," Sherlock manages a smirk. "You did have a couple of cases that you managed to close without me, though."

"Git." Lestrade rolls his eyes. "Forensics has already-yeah, I know, but the scene, minus the body is as it was, and it was after they removed him, that I looked at the set up and it felt off-it's just us, figured you didn't need an audience."

Sherlock nods gratefully as Lestrade parks the car. The Abbey Grange is a newer posh hotel serving the landed gentry, old money who didn't mind spending money on penthouse suites that were styled after drafty estate homes, so they could assume the role of 'Lord of the Manor' even while in town.

The detective snorts as the elevator door opened and he sees the lounge, a dark room in 'manly' shades, enormous bear skin rugs, which he could tell were real covered slate tiles. The only nods to colour were the deep burgundy velvet drapes that kept the cold out in late December and blocked the sunlight in July. The colour was repeated in the blood stains against white fur that showed where Sir Eustace fell.

Sherlock notes a large throne-like chair in the middle of the cavernous room. "I'm supposing Lady Brackenstall claims three men burst into her chamber, dragged her in here and tied her up, as they 'ransacked' the suite? Her husband then enters the room from his library and is bludgeoned to death as he attempts to valiantly defend his lady's honour?"

"Quite so, Mr. Holmes," a strong, vibrant voice interrupts Lestrade's response. "I'd heard stories about you, but thought they were overblown hyperbole. Would you like to examine my wrists where they lashed me to the chair, or the bruises on my face they left as they covered my mouth so I couldn't scream?"

"Actually, yes, if you wouldn't mind, Lady Mary, I am curious as to the knots they used-"

"Sherlock! Lady Mary, I do apologize-"

"No, it's fine, Detective Inspector, it's not every day I get to be cross-examined by a man who managed to 'return from the dead.' Please."

She emerges from the shadows and presents herself in front of him, wrists outstretched. Sherlock pulls out his magnifier and nods after examining the raw, red burns that wrap around her delicate wrists. "More 'overblown hyperbole,' I'm afraid, Lady Mary, but then it comes from the same journalists who claimed you married Sir Eustace for love, when in fact, he married you for your money and family background."

Lestrade groans as Lady Mary laughs in delight. "Very good, Mr. Holmes, well put. I do apologize for my rudeness, I just stopped by to pick up a few necessities. The Grange very sweetly begged me to take a different suite after the tragedy. It would appear a bit unseemly were I to continue to maintain rooms where 'my beloved and deeply grieved for' husband was brutally murdered in front of my eyes, wouldn't it, Mr. Holmes."

"Indeed."

"Gentlemen, if you need to speak to me further, I'm one floor below. Please feel free to stop by, you know how anxious I am that Eustace's killers be brought to justice."

"Lady Mary-" Lestrade nodded at her.

She strode gracefully to the elevator and winked at Sherlock as the doors began to close.

"What the hell-"

"You should listen to your instincts more often Lestrade, they seem to be on the money these days. Unfortunately, I doubt there will be evidence enough to arrest her, unless we find her accomplice."


	117. Chapter 117

Anna paced back and forth in front of the fire, she bit her already short nails and checked the window again.

"Hamish, you know he's not ready for crime scenes yet-"

"Anna."

"I know. I'm just worried-"

"He'll be back. He's only been gone an hour, he's with Lestrade, he'll be fine."

"He's not-"

"I know that, Anna, he needs to get out of his head, or in his case, back into his head and distract himself. You know how it is, I'm guessing you can put things you'd rather not deal with out of your head when you paint?"

She nods.

"He needs to have a puzzle outside of himself that he can work on, he's been drowning in memories and his nightmares lately, a case will help him, something concrete that he can put his mind to, know what I mean?"

She sighs and runs her fingers through her hair."He has good moments and then he's lost, even when he's wide awake...he forgets where he is, I just worry that a crime scene will trigger something and-"

"Lestrade will know if something happens, he knows how he 'normally' reacts to things-yep, there they are-"

"Sherlock!" Lestrade slammed the door after they entered the flat.

"You called me in, you know I have no patience for rudeness, she was fascinating, a bit too sure of herself, but definitely not boring, and she hasn't lawyered up yet-"

"Not the point!"

"And I agree with you, she may have even planned it all herself, but she had help, someone did tie her up, even if it was after the fact, after he was dead, or maybe she has a rope kink; who knows?"

"See, he's fine, Anna." John chuckled as Lestrade rubbed his face and groaned.


	118. Chapter 118

Sherlock laid on the couch, skull resting on his knees.

"CCTV?"

"No one came up except room service two hours before Sir Eustace died."

"Any other ways into the penthouse? Back stairs, some service elevator, fire escape, helicopter landing pad on the roof?"

"Sher-"

"Just seeing if you are listening-have you interviewed the room service staff?"

"Of course, no one admits taking an order or a tray to Lady Mary or Sit Eustace. No one wants to get involved."

"Did she?"

"Did she, what?" Lestrade yawned and looked at his watch.

"Order room service?"

"Wasn't a question that sprang to mind at the time."

"Was there evidence that room service had indeed been ordered? Empty plates? Glasses? Dishes? Leftovers tossed? Any video of the room server retrieving the used items?"

"Mmmmm, now that you mention it-nooooo. No."

"Positive?"

"I'm as positive as I can be. But, I will go look at the crime scene photos and double-check."

"Fine. What time do you want me tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? Aren't you going to-I don't know-do your magic thing you do?"

"Oops, forgot my magic wand in my other coat. I need a break, Lestrade. I'm hungry and my head hurts, sorry."

"Shit. I'm sorry, Sherlock. How about you text me when you are up and about tomorrow?"

"I think I can manage that. 'Night, Graham."

"Get some rest, yeah?"

Lestrade let himself out of the flat and Sherlock listened for his car to leave. "Needs a tune-up." He muttered to an empty room.

He sighed and walked into John's room where Anna was grumbling at her newest piece. "No peeking!" She hissed as she heard him inch closer.

"No fair." He slumped down on the edge of John's bed and took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "I'm ordering some Thai, what do you feel like?"

"Hmmmm?"

"Thai? Curry, noodles, what do you like?"

"Oh. Uhm, yes."

"Anna, you've been at it for hours, come and watch some Dr. Who or something?"

"In a minute, OK?" She peeked around her curtain at him and saw how exhausted he was. "Just need to add one more bit, yeah? Promise."

He nodded, put his head down on the pillow and promptly fell asleep.

Anna put her brushes in the cleaning fluid, took off her smock and turned towards the bed. "Sher-damn. I'm sorry, sweet." She threw a duvet over him and grabbed her book and lost herself in the story as always, until she heard a whimper from the bed.

"Sherlock, I'm here. No one can hurt you. You are safe."

He shook his head. "Nooooo."

Anna took a deep breath and hoped she was doing the right thing. She went to the other side of the bed, took off her slippers and laid down next to him. Immediately, he rolled into her and found her hand.

"You are safe. You are home. At Baker Street. Safe. Home." He slowly drifted into sleep and released her hand. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock." She looked up at the ceiling and counted the glow in the dark stickers that were glittering down on her. She laughed softly, removed her glasses, closed her eyes and followed him into sleep.


	119. Chapter 119

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for scrub456...

John arrives home after a double shift and finds Anna curled up around Sherlock, who is in between sleep and consciousness, seemingly torn between the two. "Oh, Hamish."

"Rough night?"

"Yeah-bad one, maybe if you told him a story?"

"He thinks my stories are rubbish."

"No. No, he doesn't. Please...the story about how the solar system got on your ceiling?"

"The what?"

Anna points up to the fading florescent stickers that spin along the beams of his ceiling.

John laughs and rubs his face. "I had almost forgotten. This is going to take a while, so here's a curry I picked up, hope you like Panang." 

She nods, gratefully, opens the take away and takes a deep breath- "Mmmmm."

"It's his favourite. You know the blog, yeah?"

"Course, who doesn't?"

"I started writing it the day we were introduced. It was an assignment from my therapist. She thought if I wrote down what happened to me it would help-"

Between bites, she snorts with derision. "Therapists..."

"The only words I had written were, 'nothing ever happens to me.' Later that day, I bump into Stamford and I meet the best man I've ever known, even if he can be a right arse."

At this, Sherlock opens his eyes and focuses on John. John brushes a damp purple curl from his eyes. "Remember, you hated that first blog post, about the 'Pink Lady?' I wrote about how brilliant you were about so much, except you didn't know basic primary school stuff like the solar system?"

Sherlock nods and reaches out for John's hand. John moves his chair closer to the bed and gives Sherlock his hand.

"Our first 'domestic' really..."

"Go on," Anna urges, now sitting up, fully alert, intrigued by the story.

"I left, stayed on a friend's couch, and that night, a bomb went off across the street, blew out our windows. The next morning I wake up to a story on the telly about an explosion on Baker Street. I rush back here to find this git arguing with his brother..."

"The Great Game!" Anna whispers with a bit of awe in her voice.

"Yeah. I haven't really slept anywhere else since, even when you were gone."

"You don't have to tell her," Sherlock mumbles.

"No. I want to."

"What?"

"When I moved in here, I was a mess; psychosomatic limp, tremor in my dominant hand, anger issues, nightmares...after a couple of days of living with this maniac, I was down to mostly annoyed, and the nightmares."

"You just needed someone to run you."

"Hush. After the Pool incident, we got home that night and I fell asleep, only to wake up screaming, the worst nightmare I've ever had. Somehow, Moriarty had crossed over into one of my Afghanistan dreams, and he was killing everyone, I would turn them over and they each had Sherlock's face."

"John-please-"

"No. Both of you need to hear this. I woke up to Sherlock playing that lullaby, the first piece he ever played for you. He was standing in the doorway, violin and bow dangling from his fingers, and he whispered-"

" 'Tell me your favourite moment in Afghanistan.' "

"It took me a few minutes before I could speak. I closed my eyes then opened them and cleared my throat and said..."

" 'A clear black night, in Kandahar, day before I was shot. I had never seen so many stars, it was like I had never seen a night sky before. There were no street lights, no pollution, just the inkiest, blackest night I've ever seen, and the stars were so close I could touch them.' "

John nods, tears in his eyes. "The next day, I get home from a late shift to find him almost falling off a ladder, putting up all these glow in the dark star stickers on my ceiling. I haven't had a nightmare about Afghanistan since."

Anna watches them and realizes not for the first or last time how each of them exists for the other some days. It takes her breath away and she jumps up. 

"Uhmm...hmmm. I never show anyone unfinished pieces, but, hmmm. I painted this before I knew about the stars on the ceiling or the story..."

She walks over to the sheet covering the mural and pulls it away.

John starts to get up, then sits down again. The wall is now painted in the colours of Sherlock's eyes when he's on a case, greens, blues, silvers, bits of gold, but turned into the aurora borealis, with two figures in silhouette standing together, fingers entwined, one tallish and thin, the other on the shorter, stockier side.

John helps Sherlock sit up and they both sit there, motionless, barely breathing, for ten minutes.

"It's finished, Anna," whispers Sherlock. "Please, come here?"

She returns to the bed and flops down in front of him.

"Do you understand now, why I would have risked prison for you?"

She nods.

"There are some people, our 'five finger people,' for lack of a better phrase, the people you would give up anything for. You and Hamish are two of those people that I will do anything to keep safe. Love is too short a word..." He drifts off, finally able to fully fall asleep. Anna covers him with the duvet then stands up in front of John.

"We are two of the luckiest sods on the planet, you and I."

John nods, his eyes glistening, but he doesn't allow the tears to fall.

"A bit of Doctor Who?"

"Yeah."


	120. Chapter 120

"Lady Mary rolled on her accomplice, she claims her lover interrupted Sir Eustace beating her again, he had tied her to the chair and had just punched her when her lover, dressed as a room service waitress burst in, grabbed a poker and killed him."

"So, the waitress is going down for it?"

"Oh no, she isn't saying a word, after I told her Lady Mary ratted her out so to speak, she went as silent as a clam. Didn't ask for a lawyer, just went back to the cell, looked like her world collapsed in on her."

"What about the three robber story?"

"Lady Mary admitted she thought that whole scheme up, they grabbed a bunch of her 'family heirlooms,' threw them in her partner's room service cart and they left it in the basement of The Grange. Yes, there is a service elevator, and a helicopter pad on the roof. They did not use a helicopter in their attempt to escape."

John smiled over his second pint, Vi and Annie had invited Sherlock and Anna for dinner and more scrapbooks, so John could have a break and watch a match with Lestrade.

"So, still at the top of his game, even...."

"Don't. There is no even, Greg. He's still the same arse with the same skills, he's just dealing with a lot of baggage from his time away."

"That's what you guys call it? 'His time away?' " Greg snorts into his third pint and tries to focus on the match, but fails. "I mean...how the fuck do you just act like nothing happened."

"I don't. Of course I don't. I knew what he was doing when he did it. I listened to him and knew. He was doing the only thing he could do at the time. Moriarty always had his number. Sherlock always liked cases to be complicated, even more that, 'elegant' than most cases turned out to be. That was his weakness, he didn't understand the only point to Moriarty's game with him was that it. was. just. a. game. To Sherlock, it wasn't logical, there wasn't a grand statement Moriarty was making, he just wanted to 'watch Sherlock dance.' "

"But-"

"But...of course it sucked. I still missed him, still had to 'bury' my best friend, had to act the 'grieving widow' almost, as the press dubbed me. Mycroft always believed I thought he was dead, and I never let him think otherwise. Molly knew, of course, he needed help finding that other corpse that looked just like him. But I had to lie to you and Mrs. Hudson for two years, and yeah, I wasn't sure he would actually come back home."

"And you guys aren't...?"

"Greg, I'm straight, always have been, but my place is with him. I would have gone with him if he'd asked. He's my better, weirder, and much stronger half. I don't want to be anywhere else but with him. I know you don't get it. I still don't get it at times, but we manage to make the other better and stronger and we just need each other."

"What about Anna?"

"I think he sees her as a second chance to be a good big brother. Vi left him at about the same age that Anna is now, she's just a bit older, and they have a sense about each other which is just brilliant. And she needs people who love her, and we do. I guess I've just become accustomed to living an odd existence. But, please, don't treat him like a china doll, he needs people to believe he's still the same guy that he was when he left. Pity would kill him at this point..."

"I hear you, mate. I've known him much longer than you have, and you have definitely made him a different human being, you managed to make him less a robot. He's not touchy-feely or anything, but he is starting to talk to me in a way I never thought he would. I mean, fer god's sake, he apologized and gave me a backhanded compliment in under two minutes on our way to the Grange scene."

John laughs, and shakes his head. "He never ceases to surprise."

"Another round?"

"Nah, they should be home by now. He sleeps better when I'm there. So do I, matter of fact."

"Night John, I'll let you know if another case pops up."

"Just keep sending them to him, they are still his cases, you know."

"Yeah. Gotchya."


	121. Chapter 121

Sherlock sighed as Vi pulled out the tenth, 'one last thing you have to see,' when she handed him a tattered notebook. "Where, how- I thought- this had been lost-"

"I had a box I always kept with me, 'my necessaries' I called them, I had it with me that night when we found you, and I guess I just picked it up and threw it in my box. I had forgotten about this box until I was searching for pictures of you for Anna. It was in the bottom of a trunk of odds and ends, I thought you might want it back. I didn't want to give it to you in front of Anna, figured it would raise questions that maybe you don't want to answer right now."

"Vi -"

She gently put her hands to his face. "Love, I know, I know you are fighting so hard right now, just to get out of bed each day, I see it in your eyes. Give yourself a break, sweetie, you have been through so much. You need time to heal, and I can see that you have people around you right now that are capable of giving you that. John and Anna love you, so much, I can see it in how she speaks to you and how she revolves around you, like she's standing between you and your ghosts. I can see how John tries so hard not to protect you, he knows you need to be out in the world, and it scares him, but he lets you go, because he trusts you."

"But-"

"No. Look at me. Please?"

Sherlock looks at her, shaking his head. "I'm so broken, Vi. I close my eyes to sleep and I see everything all mixed up and ruined. I can't, they shouldn't have to deal with me how I am."

"Lock, if you asked them, there would be no other place they would rather be than by your side."

"But why, Vi?"

"Why did you miss me?"

"What?"

"Why did it hurt so much when I was gone?"

"Because I love you."

"...and?"

"And nothing, I wanted to be there to help you and make sure you were-"

"Uh-huh."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

"John is always trying to tell me why he stays, I'm always afraid there will be a day when it's just too much for him and he will be gone."

"I bet right now, he's wondering why you and Anna aren't home yet-"

 

Anna and Annie are still flipping through pages of old family photos, mostly of Sherlock growling at the camera, or Vi trying to escape the photographer, but there is one of the two of them, that makes Anna stop. "Oh, Annie- look, they didn't know someone was taking their picture." They were standing with their back to the camera, fingers clasped, while they simply watched the ocean together. He looked to be about 12, she was maybe 9, they were pale even in the summer sun and seemed like the next wave could just carry them away.

"You love him a lot, Anna."

"Yeah, he's...I just feel like I've always known him, some part of him is so familiar, I know that sounds crazy-"

"No, I know."

"He understands so much, we don't even have to talk- most people are exhausting, I have to work so hard to be 'normal' around them, he just let's me be, and it's fine."

Annie nods. "They are amazing people, he and Vi, they have been so hurt, and yet, they still have such capacity for love. I know he's in a hard place right now, but you are so good for him, I'm so glad."

Anna smiles, as she closes the book and looks at the time. "Damn, it's late! I'm going to turn into a pumpkin soon."

"If you ever need us, please just let us know, yeah?"

"Thank you, you guys are the best."

Sherlock and Vi appear with coats and hats. "Come on pumpkin, time to get home."

Sherlock nods to Vi, gives Annie a big hug and gives Anna his arm. "Night, ladies."

They walk home despite the cold, in silence, arm in arm.


	122. Chapter 122

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the home stretch...

"No." - JW

"John, it is essential he work this case." - MH

"Absolutely not." - JW

"May I bring the file over?" - MH

"He is no shape to deal with you right now, Mycroft. And you know how much I enjoy your presence." - JW

"Can I send Anthea." - MH

"Can I stop you?" - JW

Anthea appeared at the door in five minutes, nodding to him, handing him an inch thick file, then departing without a word.

 

Sherlock appears five hours later, and despite his rumpled, bleary eyed appearance asks the air, "what has my brother done now to offend thee so mightily?"

John snorts at him, finally letting go of the breath and the tension he had been holding all morning. "He wants you to work a case for him."

Sherlock pours a cup of coffee and leans back against the counter.

"Essential, international importance, Queen and Country, knighthood, all were mentioned in his numerous texts. He wore me down and Anthea dropped this off a few hours ago."

Sherlock finishes his coffee and leans over the file, he flips through it and angrily taps out a text:

 

"How the hell am I supposed to help you if the documents are all blacked out?" - SH

"You aren't cleared for the information." - MH

"I'm essential, yet not cleared. And I won't work for anonymous clients. Been through this before, remember?" - SH

"Somewhat unforgettable, dear brother." - MH

"I will not work with both hands tied behind my back." - SH

"Will see what I can do." - MH

"Do that." - SH

 

An hour late, Mrs. Hudson appears at the door, "Yoo-Hoo-everyone decent?"

Sherlock groans, " as decent as we will ever be, Mrs. Hudson."

"Client, Sherlock - you really need to get the buzzer fixed."

He rolls his eyes and stands to greet his newest client; well-to-do, Cambridge?...no, Oxford...financial district, makes a lot of money, but wife in position of power..MP....interesting.

"Mr. Holmes, I, uhm, am in an unfortunate position, and need some advice."

"Advice, from me, Mr. Trelawney Hope?"

"How-"

"You and your wife are an attractive couple, very photogenic."

"Quite, erm, well..."

"I am assuming blackmail by person or persons unknown?"

"Yes and No."

"Explain, please."

"Yes, I am being, or was being blackmailed. Last night, she was murdered."

"Interesting. Please take a seat, and start at the beginning."


	123. Chapter 123

"Hilda and I married in our thirties, well-established in our respective careers...she was an MP from an early age, following in her mother's footsteps, and I have done well in the markets, as you no doubt have observed."

"Quite."

"Of course, we had our share of dalliances before we married, most quite harmless, unremarkable..."

"However, you had one romance with a paper trail that could be uncomfortable at the very least, disastrous if it became public knowledge, and with your wife's stratospheric rise in her party, may be evaluating her chances at higher office..."

Trelawney Hope wandered to the window and nodded, "Ellen Lucas was stabbed to death in her residence late last night. Unfortunately, I had gone to visit her with hopes of appealing to her compassionate side..."

"Ah, yes, I was just reading about that. She was a well known dealer in classified documents, she would sell to whomever paid the most, not caring about their ideology or values. I'm assuming you found her compassionate side lacking, yes?"

Another nod.

"She did not demand money or sexual favours for her silence, she wanted certain documents that your wife was responsible for, and instead of trusting in your wife's ability to forgive your past romantic indiscretions, you downloaded these documents and sent them to Ms. Lucas."

Trelawney Hope turned towards Sherlock who was stretched out on the couch, eyes closed, fingers steepled. "You are as good as they say..."

"Better than they say, but that's beside the point. What brought you here? Did you want me to somehow hack into Ms. Lucas' email account, retrieve said documents, and you would be safe? Or did you want me to absolve you somehow of your traitorous misdeeds against a wife you seem to adore? I am not a priest, Mr. Trelawney Hope. My advice, which you claim to want from me, is to go home and get on your knees and beg abjectly for your wife's forgiveness, and hope the Yard does not find evidence of your presence in Ms. Lucas' residence last night. If there is nothing else, I bid you a good afternoon, sir."


	124. Chapter 124

John had been sitting quietly in his chair listening and observing the two men, he rose slightly and rolled his eyes as Sherlock began to rip into their erstwhile client. Then his hand twitched as he felt Trelawney Hope's fury build and his hands clench.

But he relaxed again as Trelawney Hope began to laugh. "I'd also heard that you were a bit of an arrogant arsehole, especially when you were right. I deserve that, yes. But, I was not naive enough to send her an email, I downloaded it to a flash drive and hand delivered it to her a week ago." 

Sherlock opened his eyes and sat up and carefully studied his client for the first time. "No, I misspoke. Apologies. I assume you know where this flash drive may be located?"

Trelawney Hope nodded. "After my plea went unanswered, I left her house, but waited outside the window. Knowing her as I did, I knew she would want to gloat over this victory over me, so she lifted the oriental carpet in her sitting room and pressed a button on the wall, a panel in the floor slid back and she reached into the space and pulled out the flash drive. She laughed to herself, kissed it, then returned it to its hiding place. I was about to leave, so I could walk and think things out when I saw a figure walk up her steps. Whoever it was wore a dark hoodie, couldn't tell if it was a male or female, they pressed her bell, and it was obvious this visitor was expected. I left in case someone spotted me, as you say, I'm easily identifiable..."

John turned at the familiar steps of Lestrade and groaned. "I would guess from DI Lestrade's presence that someone did indeed spot you there."

"Mr. Trelawney Hope, I am arresting you for the murder of Ellen Lucas..."

Trelawney Hope locked eyes with Sherlock and nodded sadly.

"I will do my best for you, that's all I can promise."

"It is all I can ask, thank you."

"At least forego the handcuffs, Lestrade," Sherlock sighed.

Lestrade shrugged, "there is a battalion of press downstairs."

"Can you have Donovan meet you out back?"

"I don't see why not-"

"Good, give me a few minutes, then get Mrs, Hudson to let you through her garden-"

"Sherlock-"

"I haven't given the press a good photo op since I've been back, today is as good a day as any other."

Trelawney Hope glanced at Sherlock. "You don't have to do this."

"If I don't it won't matter if I clear your name, will it?"

"I suppose not. I do appreciate this-"

"Think nothing of it. I do need time to dress appropriately, John, where is that 'death frisbee?' "

"Hmmm, I think it's in the hall closet..."

"Good. Fine."

In less than five minutes, Sherlock Holmes appeared, hair slicked back, but otherwise, very much the detective from two and half years ago before the fall.

"John?"

"Coming."


	125. Author's note #2

Chapter 124 concludes the story of my version of Sherlock's return, aka, a kind of fix-it for Season 3. It became something a bit more, basically a modern spin of ACD's "The Return of Sherlock Holmes". I wanted to do more backstory for Sherlock, so I gave him a second 'sibling,' Violet Smith, which allowed me to play a bit in his childhood, but more importantly in his early twenties.

I was able to keep the boys in a platonic verse in most part due to the lovely support and comments from scrub456, thank you, my friend. :)

Because I can't help myself, in a few days, I will begin my version of A Study in Scarlet/Pink, from the first meeting between Sherlock and his blogger. My hope, as with this story, is that I will post a bit each day until its completion, but sometimes the muse is stuck. Or the children interrupt her. ;)

I plan on adding more stories involving these characters in my collection of song fics, "Everybody Hurts." If you have a song request, I'd be happy to give it a try.

Thank you so much for the support and following of this wee story.

-notjustmom

**Author's Note:**

> I have decided to distract myself from the never ending hiatus by 'correcting' Season 3. I will post a chapter a day until the UK premiere of Season 4, expected at some point shortly before I send my youngest to Medical School.
> 
> Seriously, I intend to write Season 3 as if Mary never appeared on the scene. There is only the platonic relationship that existed previously to the Fall.
> 
> Enjoy. Please feel free to argue, discuss or plead your case as the mood hits. We have plenty of time to kiss and make up later. Peace.


End file.
